Parts In Motion

The clock

was nestled

under the 

thick glass

reflecting

salty 

water drops. 

Excusing

the games

that have

been built

inside

your skin.

Running

against

time to fix the 

broken

past.

Brass arms

that can

no longer 

reset.

Left behind

is the second hand

that was holding

on.

Double faced

movement 

breaks

my life. 

Removing

the key from 

your back

I understand

now

that you

are parts 

in motion.

Real 

is useless 

to you

and so

am

I.