T I M E
passes. even when it seems impossible.
even when each tick of the second hand aches
like the pulse of blood behind a bruise.
it passes unevenly,
in strange lurches and dragging lulls,
but pass it does.
even for me.
even when each tick of the second hand aches
like the pulse of blood behind a bruise.
it passes unevenly,
in strange lurches and dragging lulls,
but pass it does.
even for me.
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