Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

The clocks on the walls chime.

All have a different tone.

All have a different time.

No one knows which time is right.

Stuck in a dark dank cell.

"It's part of the torture," they say.

Only time will tell.

Days, weeks, or months go by.

The ticking hasn't stopped.

Its consistency has made us stir.

Our sanity has just popped.

The ticking is just empty noise.

The time has no meaning.

Existence has started to blur.

Yet our hearts continue beating.

Rescue is within our grasp.

We turn our backs and mock.

But still in our minds we hear…

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.