“Clocks”

Tick, tick, an endless tick
rings in my ears,
taunts me as they fold creases

under my eyes.

Papery leaves split
and feather down
lifeless on the ground–
mocking my doom.

Branches wither in winter’s wind
white slush snaps them dead
and you retreat
into sleep
to reserve your heartbeat.

But you cannot escape
the tick tick tick
that persists until
your last thump thump thump.

It is happening.

Relish in rose petal cheeks
and nimble toes
for this foe
will not let you go
without stretching
your perky flesh into sags
and rip your fine hair
to withered white wisps.

That’s what it did to me.

weary and bent and broken
my body
on my bed
collecting dust on pillows
and soon enough–

I am dead.