Those Kids With Their New Fangled Tok Tiks

Watching from my alabaster face
sometimes hands will wipe my face
every second counts my days
My forlorn voice
always met with grunted dismay
Watch you cower
as i strip your time
once oiled
now choked
by skin and dust
counting minute minutes
ours are the hours
some
time
sometime
Copyright © | Year Posted 2020

Poem

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