Tuesday, June 12, 2012

Time, again.

Hadn't realised yet what time was
a worthless bed
when number two always divides itself
growing up
growing up again
realising own face again.
When clocks become ink
nothing but smiles and smoke.
feeling nothing
worthless time
deceiving us too much
that we forget to watch
instead, we count.
when there's nothing to count,
we still buy the same old-fashioned clocks.

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