Counting Backward

the sound finds its way inside. dull needles dragging through my holes their heavily knotted threads. the words come in pinches. the pauses in punches. everything else is just noise.

the static of oblivion crackles in her head. an army of wet dragons exhaling smoke. it's obvious she insists. this humility of the stone as it breaks the water's tension. a mute suicide. lost amongst so many.

the rumble of time. as its footsteps pound behind. the chase of the shadows as the sun draws higher in the sky. as it prepares to submit us to the darkness. the shudder of the time machine. as it wakes me from this sleep. to tease the world out there. with rumors of my death.

the minutes come on tiptoe. the hours exit in fits.