What is real and what is not do you
dwell in a place where time forgot
A passing loose connection with reality
where all stands still beyond mortality
The clock tocks slow as the minutes cast
vivid faces upon the wall of despair piercing
your very existence on this plain
Time peers out through the hour-glass sand
Offering a trembling skeletal hand
The illusion feels real & icy cold
As it throttles & its visage takes a hold
Time echoes a silent amplified beat
Offering you a false hand of deceit
The phantom smirks a grin of snakes
As it strangles your neck & breaks
The clock ticks slow as the hours grow
shadows form and pass as you stare
through the window this looking glass
Your static stare gives no hint of that
endless gaze that you cradle deep
within that third eye of imagination which
drags you deep within self without the
needle of distraction self is transfixed