My clock faces me, standing precariously
By the wall. I remember taking them out,
The batteries, and now it's hands are frozen.
Choosing one was harder that I would imagine,
I looked for hours, and told myself,
That there should not be numbers edging around
The edges. I opted for shapes,
Universally subjective, singularly elective.
It's facial symmetry encloses me, but still
I am free to choose the time, I can turn it
So it's half past three, or half past nine.
And I can forget about what I have chosen,
And I can forget about how I can't live without,
My perception, me, my minds escapee.
But there's always been that glass.
No matter what I see underneath,
It's still there, reflections' sheath,
My mirror looking into the past.
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