A poem.

Oh my how the second's hand drags time along.
The hour hand marks the tears of boredom that drip from my eyes.
The dreadful ticking is a metronome that stresses my mind.

The circular shape of a clock reminds me that there is no end to this
My brain is warped in trance between limbo and reality.
The simple frustration is driving me to insanity I drag my fingers down my face
In hope for this terror to end ,the living nightmare in which I am ensnared.

The bold black numbers outline the shape of the clock and are a constant reminder
That there is no limit to the damned numerical digits
I am damned to all eternity to suffer under a tyrant named Father Time.