i write

July 9, 2013

Tick Tock

The clock keeps going

Twelve, one, two,

They're all just numbers

My pen keeps going

Expressing my hearts deepest fears and regrets

My paper gets dirty

Smudged by ink and tears

What my mouth can no longer express

The pain that burders my heart

The letters that form, they bring a sweet release

A freedom that none can fathom

Something wrong with this poem?

Replies are closed for this poem.

See what makes your poem unique — its voice, energy, themes, and the literary traditions it draws from.

Comments (0)

No comments yet. Be the first to share your thoughts.