Anticipating

Filled to the brim
The gloves are off.

Tick tock, tick tock. 

You say, hope.
With eyes that are green
then gold,
Then black.
You speak of promises,
With cheeks that don't move.

Tick tock, tick tock. 

Looking blankly
Repeatedly it seems.
Nodding,
But this soul is darkened:
With each word,
With each action.
Limbs succumbed
Like an amazing wave
From the ocean
Has washed over...
It's only a matter of time.
Tick tock, tick tock. 

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