Tick Tock

Intricate stories of lustful love
are winding their spindly fingers
around the hands of time,
each hour passing by without a chime.
Not a whisper, not a sound;
unheard is the soft voice of emotions never found.
Tender hearts and saddened eyes,
remain fragile from the lies;
wounds and bruises spot the skin,
scarring the shell she takes refuge in.
Hiding from the world outside,
the Truth she just cannot abide.
She allows this stopping of the clock,
knowing that the pieces of her life are always kept in stock.
The ticks of the second hand come to a halt,
while she tries to convince herself that there are no faults.
Says she: 'His character is strong'
but the hurt will come before too long.
The mother-of-pearl face crashes onto the floor,
and of time: there is no more.
She must hurry, and erase the pain he's caused,
because slowly, the minutes will become unpaused.