A damp thud, echoing
softly but audible enough
to wake you up
and lift you out from beneath
the protection of sleep
to witness the last tick-tock
of the corpse,
a broken clock.
Smashed glass
and splintered time,
the shards of glass
Feed on memories of mine.
slurping from my essence
until another thud awakens
my mutilated conscience,
groaning on the ground
as I release my weight from its neck.