Tick tick

Dip into these archives reader beloved and you'd see
an amaranthine hate for clocks and its hands three
oh how I've hated and mocked them for being slow
for being stranded in time, ebbing their flow
whenever in moments past that I'd look at them
time'd mount a drowsy tortoise, a snail in tow
at corpse's pace would it crawl
each second postponed by an hour
the clock had taken to mocking me
one tick and I'd wait for another tock
supine time, stapled to a heartless clock
it didn't move, it didn't care, carelessly ignoring my pleas
even as I cried and said "I beseech thee"

And now would you look at the time
it wasn't yours, never promised to be mine
how abruptly has the dawdling buffoon taken heed
accelerated its pace at breakneck speed
time ticks away with a vengeance
hurriedly waiting to be done with itself, for what? so that it could be free?
ticking at the speed of light
a blink ago it was morning, another blink it's already night

Wait time, I need you to stop, breathe, pause
enough with the ticking
I need to scratch at leisure, all the hollows that've been itching
could be I'd need to scratch it forever
my indulgent lubricious present
go back to being drowsy or dead, ticking time
or your supersonic scamper would turn my delights into a memory
my wanton river of luxurious smiles
will reduce to a jaded swamp of everyday slime
you're lacerating my fantasized version of fabricated reality
a few eternities more and then perhaps I'd be done with this reverie
or maybe not