When Time Is Broken

The clock’s hands no longer move, rusted with waiting and heavy with oxidised breath. Time is no longer golden but iron turned red with longing. Ire bubbling below a patience wearing thin. The watch’s face is blank, no numerals guarding its perimeter keeping count. Under scratched glass, frozen hands are circled by invisible sharks with teeth two: one fang long, slicing seconds into longer minutes; one tooth short, left hanging like a child’s arm half raised in question. When alone, time is corroded by memories that won’t exist.