As I languish and yearn, wring my hands and lament-

time seems to lengthen

and the clock counting the beats of my slowing heart

shows the lack of progress and emotional content

of my day.

It tells me that despite my best efforts

by mid morning- 

I am still unloved.

At lunch time - when the hands point to twelve,

I cant quite feel where my heart actually was.

Later, during the afternoon....sometime....

I no longer care whether I have a heart

and hope I will never have to bother with it again - 

after all, it beats slower now and its timing is irregular-

as if the point of its existence has been lost.

I reach the evening and there are long periods of silence

whilst time stands still and I watch the second hand in suspended motion

holding my breath in anticipation of when or if it might move

and when it does - there is shock and disappointment

and I begin to long for the absolute....

peace.....

of.....

absent.....

ticking......