I have lived inside a clock –

My spine was cramped

And I sucked on empty oxygen

Got sick from it, had nothing to regurgitate

Except for tears which didn’t flow

And fear I didn’t feel

Instead I retreated into my dark, slick interior

Where were my flesh and soul, the same

Thought the ticking would drive me mad.

But the ticking was my heartbeat

My heartbeat drove me mad

And I was cramped,

And what must have been outside

Was not an ocean—not the world

It was.

Was what? I asked

It was.

Thought the cold would drive me mad

Thought the sunsets of my breaths, would drive me mad

Wondered if I indeed was mad

I was; therefore sane

My sanity drove me mad

I entertained thoughts of escape

Cursed everything and nothing, and my escape

Till I peeled myself off the clockwork

To find my spine was made of gears

And my heart was,

And my disbelieving fingertips

Only then did I leave—and was gone

It was. I was not.

And nothing drove me mad