The clock

The clocks not moving but your heart is still beating. Like a blood stream cut open pouring on the floor, soon dried and cleaned away forgotten. Only remembered by scars faded away. carved out pain replaced with blood, only time will tell. No ending to this story. No more words. It all ends in a heart beat when the last of your blood is emerged and pours to the floor. Then we see our self as we did before. Covered in blood, our breathing stops. No life flashing before us because this is all we’ve got.