The hand turns slowly, with the ticking of the clock

Every tick a reminder, of a painful thought

Each hour goes slower, I begin to tap my pen

Quiet in the dorm, only sound the Southside wind

I need to go home, I can’t stay here anymore

I’m falling apart, I was not like this before

Thinking again, why don’t these thoughts decrease

Tapping of my pen, has constantly increased

The sound of the clock, is now blaring in my ear

Shoots pain to my jaw, the end is not quite near

Few more hours, I have to make it through today

A couple more dollars, for the bills that are not paid

Reaching for the end, but there’s not one I can see

Tomorrow do it again, live in constant misery

So I watch the clock, waiting for the time to reach

The seventh hour, that my life is finally free

But the hand turns slowly, with the ticking of the clock

Every tick a reminder, of a painful thought

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

w

Connecting to %s