the crack in the face of the clock
The crack in the face of the clock allows time to slip through my hands
Suddenly, there I am.
Buried alive in all of the wasted time spent hating myself because I wasn’t enough for you
I scream into pillow cases that still smell of cigarettes and that perfume of yours that I always hated.
But there I am.
Swallowed whole by the memories that you and I built on the furthest thing from a firm foundation.
It’s three AM, and the patterns on the ceiling have started answering all of the questions you never did.
They tell me things I want to hear about you and me, so that I almost forget that I’m all alone.
I don’t want to make it stop.
The pressure builds beneath my skin, only reminding me that you’re gone.
I lie here begging the ghost of you to help me.
Anyone.
Help me.
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I like the jumping back and forth from long lines to short lines. Everything flows well, all leading into that soul-crushing ending.