"The Truth Behind Clocks"

I took the cell phone from my pocket,

pulled my arm as high as I could and slammed it into my wrist with enough force to draw a wrist watch.

I scraped the broken plastic from the ground and carved flaps of skin with all the reasons I had to,

stretched them across the watch and made sure my time would keep.

Upon finding the irellevance in my hand,

I broke my wrist and pulled a clock from the circle of glass and pinions.

I ran my arm into the ground until I could feel my forearm splinter.

The pieces never made better gear teeth.

I drew the lines in with the blood.

Upon finding the fragility of clocks I grabbed the 12 am line and ripped it from the borders built by my heart.

By the time the line was taffy and taut I had found myself on a timeline.

I drug my feet across the ground until all I had were stumps and splatters of the blood that looked like a family tree.

At the top I found my ancestors.

That only knew time by the sun.

The Natives.

The tribes.

The ones who were truly alive for they were not restricted by time.

I found that my blood was not a medium to keep pace,

but this whole time,

a medium to keep peace.

Reviews

[Ruth]

This is excellent! The flow of images become a spiral of thoughtful metaphors and intrigue the reader!
Superb work love! Do you send our read requests? People may see your work more that way :)
xx