Crushing Clocks

Crushing Clocks

I sweat a thousand black clogging gems.
They cream my cheeks, spike my skin like swords.
Bathing, boiling my face, I breathe like a tiger,
The saccharine shadow of my eyelashes is now slain.
I trip over slippery euphoria and feel melting clocks
slump to my feet. I smash their cores with the heels of my shoes.

My torrential tresses soak the dark velvet in my shoes
and drench and drown every dizzy skeletal clock.
I flash and slash out smiles like a smirking sword.
Grip hard at the floorboard like a black claw of a tiger
its sacrificed skin is scratched, never slain.
I gaze up and stare at fizzing pink gems.

I fall into a pit of people, vicious twisting gems.
Our hands dart towards the death of the clocks.
Our furious feet press at their pulses. I slayed
the stifling numbers drizzling in my mind, trembling swords.
Time screams on my wrist but I just keep dancing in my shoes
The friction feeds my famished secret tiger.

I throttle the necks of my thoughts with the grit of my tiger.
I smother myself with silken smoke and see nothing but my shoes.
Between the steamy smog, they glimmer like sexy swords.
But what are these emerald trembles in my brain, these trickling gems?
Blinding and blending and burning my life's clock
All answers, all questions, all that looms is now slain.

Like a languid vulture, I slay
at every twitching hand of the clock,
They faint and fall like buttons off shoes
like the white whiskers off a dying tiger.
like the smudging of a gem
like a wilted, frail, serenading sword.

I taste the blood in between my teeth, these iron swords
slinking through my sliver like a snake watching a tiger.
We are not in deserts, exposed to the rays of the day’s clock.
Waiting to strike down on us, and slay
the sweetness of the present, a static gem.
No, we are killing time with just a beat of a shoe.

We are obsessive tigers. We are the lovers of the present; a static gem.
Slaying the future with our sword-like shoes.
Crushing clocks.