tick tock

the time unending

strikes up a funeral march

eyes fixed on the clock

like glue on paper.

gravestone hallways

entomb the silence

capture and hold it

tighter, tighter

until it's ready to explode!

then it lets go-

and the air is too full to breathe

musty and dirty and used

the intense quiet

creates a reverberating echo

as marble floors surround

glancing around helplessly...

no relief in sight.

my voice is not capable of making noise

of anything

but breathing in the moldy air--

and that just barely.

a fly on the wall-

eyes glued to the clock

tick, tock.