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Countdown
February 4, 2012
Your name is perched
On the tip of my tongue
Posing elegantly
A deadly bomb
Emitting a soft tick...tick
A silent countdown
Ready to destroy us.
You used to be so calm
The perfect balance of temper
And patience
But a chemical imbalance
A factory mess up
Has been your downfall.
I'd take you in
If you would let me.
Work delicately
To repair your flaws
Lengthen your fuse
Save us all.
Yet your name still sits on the tip of my tongue
Emitting a countdown
That might kill us both.
You implode and through failing eyes I finally see you
Cry.
© Jessica K., San Antonio, TX
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So, Algebras never ending boredom brought it out of me.