Clocks

Some Broken clocks still tick,
Maybe a little too slow,
Perhaps showing the wrong time,
But isn’t that something we all do,
Living a life which sounds like
These clocks ticking,
We hear the same sound for hours, for weeks, for months, for years.
It’s like we have only one song on our playlists,
On repeat, and we hear the same song, on constant volume,
For hours, for weeks, for months, for years.
It’s like we are living in a stranger place,
Stranded and we call the same place home,
For hours, for weeks, for months, for years.
It’s like we are watching a movie,
With the lines gripping our tongues and
We keep on watching it on mute,
For hours, for weeks, for months, for years.
It’s like we are driving on the same road,
At the same speed,
For hours , for weeks , for months , for years.
It’s like waiting for something magical to happen,
Waiting , for hours , for weeks , for months , for years.
Is this what our lives were supposed to be,
Kissing cigarettes and drugs,
To constantly burn anything alive which stayed inside us.

Our life was supposed to be a fight, lights, warmth, colors ,music on full volume, ink , food, words, love, campfire, a cup on beer on a chilly night and remedies.

-Via f.f (clocks)

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