Clock (an acrostic poem)

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Counting down the hours, minutes, and seconds was painful

Letting my emotions swing back and forth, back and forth, twisting my gut in knots

Observing how life seems to move in slow motion making breathing difficult

Can’t seem to make those hands spin any faster, even if I stare so hard at the thing I go blind

Killing time sounds like it would be easy, but now I realize time is killing me instead