The Clock [Poem]

The Clock

This one has a soft spot in me…

The Clock

Taken back to
“Will you?”
Brings up the question of clocks
In a casino like snow-leopards on
The wall, they are counted by name.

Nervously look up at the blank
Space I wish was filled with
Black on white.
The red hand comes around
And your eyes are as uncomfortable
As open heart surgery.
If you break our sound barrier,
I won’t be able to finish
My king’s speech to write a closing letter.

Brought forward to
“Can we please?”
Brings up the question of
Self-hypnosis, of monsters.
The discomfort of continuing
Brings around the red hand again.
A split second of blame and
All I want to do is go home.

I’ve overstayed my visit
And it’s time to move to the
The black hand will be next.

Leaving the concrete enclosure
Will be good for me.
I honestly hope you
Don’t stay and become lost.

Accompanying song:

The Clock [Poem]

Who Am I?

As someone who spews out messages at the world in the form of creative material, I love finding out what other people are about. The things you notice about their work make it new. Recurring themes and similarities can create the work in itself. Defining a message is difficult, especially if it’s for you. After spending a long time thinking about this though, I’ve noticed a couple things that keep coming up in my work.

Firstly, I’m extremely interested in characters who are social outcasts, and through some form of interaction with society; they come to lose their sense of self. They are afraid of regret and tend to end up hurting themselves and those around them in their flight from it. It’s that counter-productive effect they have on their environment.

I’m interested in characters like this because it’s something I fear deep down myself. I live life trying to be as passive as possible, and I feel that in studying people like this, I’ll have a better chance of avoiding becoming one of them completely, good and bad.

I am also really interested in body horror. I always find a story gets a lot more interesting when a character starts mutating or growing something weird. When they decide to hide their transformation, it gets even better. It’s the physical manifestation of an idea that’s tearing them apart. When they hide it, it shows a reluctance to accept the new idea, which is opens a whole new jar of pickles.

The characters that drive me to tell stories are the ones that are afraid of telling their own true stories. They are outcasts, shy, worrisome and driven by something they can’t forget. They want to make their mark but don’t want to get hurt in the process. They don’t want to break anything but they do. These people interest me because I am one of them, just trying to get whatever’s inside me out.

Who Am I?