|'Clingy and Ancient'|
Last year is a foul creature that deserves to die.
My splintered bones and foggy recollections stumble through time, bitch-slapped by decay and kicked by those who need, but have more than me. The weapon of time fires every day, hitting my eyes, my heart and kneecaps, tearing fresh wounds with every sunrise. Old wounds heal from the clock's medicinal tongue, but it's bitter and weak. Like me, clocks should have scabs, gashes, scars and get the shakes once in a while.
So I cling to the little bastards that fall from time's broken womb. Nuggets of the clock, moments wedged in an ice cube, remind me of when I cared little for a new year and hoped for something more than pathetic imitations of humility, before their feigned benevolence slit my throat and left me for dead. Those bastards of frozen time are revealed to me now. I see their terror and greed with eyes incapable of tears. And I still cling to them.
Clingy and ancient is the ticking clock that slowly cooks my innards and boils my brain, turning all to goo and ash, while I wrinkle and endure.