The Battlefield That We Call Yesterday Read Count : 47

Category : Notes/work

Sub Category : N/A

The clock marking 10pm, while the past is running fast as the present's shys' away.

Who told you that I'm without flaws,

who told me that you'd change my life.

It's 11pm, wasted hours echos "find comfort in solute....if  you're strong enough""

Seconds that enjoy dying, mere minutes that are maryter of hours crashing my head.

The clock's annoucing 12 am,

remembrance start building a home in my head

¿what's a home ?


 A graveyard of tales buried in coffins that some call memories or happy ending others baptize as farytales.

 Guess we'll never know 


The carcass of 12am is feeding 1am

tick! tock tick! tock tick! tock tick! tock screeching away "despondency is your friend now".... tick tock -tick tock - - that fades.

My life elapses while minutes marks moments that have left the door.

There's no such thing as a clock that moves backwards.

 2 am has arrived, the dense clock is teasing me again; my desire to kiss the photo that's left behind - minutes transmuting into yesterday.

3am is here, seconds the passengers of a train that has no stop, those minutes that don't look back, and the clock without plans.

4am and here we go again- feeling like saltwater,


 l….li….lik….like fire on skin,

minutes that pay no pension, and waste the light.

It's  5 am, time to awake, hearing a faith that 's rusting away, just like the minutes that form the battlefield of last night.

Time's the morgue of minutes we dub as yesterday.


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