Trophi32

The hour hand crawls,

The minute hand rides slow,

And the second hand isn't guaranteed.

Breathes taken for granted,

That unspoken invincibility;

Cloaked in procrastination

Uncovered by death; untimely

What followed by if's

That never graph suicide to the X axis

Tic Tac Toe

Hints of direction

That speak dispiritedly in manufactured smiles

Secret skeletons discovered

In a hidden closet,

Pain gagged in the back

For I walked through the valley of shadow

Of my death

And the clock palms rewind to darkness

Of the depression that I fight to escape

As I contemplate the idea of freedom;

Death; Help