Plastic Watch

The clock keeps ticking.
5:08
5:09
5:10
And I am desolate, desperate, and alone.
5:11
Another minute. Silence. Solitude.
5:12
One liners, one minute, and time stretches.
5:13
More time, wasted on paper, life drawn out in ink. Crying, and still time screams so silently at me.
5:14
The watch doesn't tick. Digital. Material. False.
I wait.
5:15
Flick the ashes, watch the red glow, and inhale. This hurts.
5:16
Recite Ray Bradbury in my head,"The good writers touch life often." Do I touch life? At all?
5:17
And I think of blood and death. I touch death. Does that make me poor?
5:18
"The bad ones rape her and leave her to the flies."
Silence.
I am a rapist.
5:19
A bad writer, who writes on endlessly.
A rapist of poetry, prose, and life.
Wait.
5:20
The clock changes, I am changing.
I feel it and it hurts.
5:21
My ears are ringing.
I turn the clock around and ignore time.

©Felix