Tick Tock, Tick Tock, Tick Tock…

She wakes late, nothing new, once again,

promising to get to bed early tonight.

Then in the bathroom, she looks into

the mirror of more lies and tell herself,

‘definitely today I will treat myself right.’

Breakfast time, she starts to take real good care of herself by,

denying her body the fuel it needs to get its head around

behind the steering wheel of her life.

Then she rationalise by telling herself,

‘I feel just fine, I’m just not an eat first thing in the morning kind of child.’

She arrives subconsciously, deliberately late to a job

working for and with people she secretly despise and claim to hate,

but which nevertheless pays-not, the forever never ending cycles of bills-

and robs her of the will to question and reason,

‘Who am I? Why am I here?’

She continues to love herself so much she decides to skip lunch-

although she back door slide draw in two chunky mars bars

for an instant high; that should keep you still.

At four thirty she wonders why the last hour always slithers by

so desperate she is to leave behind this workplace where she

waste so much of her time.

Now she’s counting down the stations to destination ‘home life,’

after wasting even more time playing, ‘avoiding passengers eyes

whilst hiding behind same old titillating news headlines.’

She arrives home late- seven thirty, a quarter to eight,

after being repossessed by, ‘I’ve been so good to myself today;

haven’t eaten a thing all day’ KFC takeaway-

as well as two more chunky mars bars, two big packet of crisps,

some cigs for a spliff, and a bottle of rose to go with it.

She washes and night-dresses, beginning to prepare herself for her

9’0 clock never-ending date of comfort food eating herself.

She eats, drinks, smokes ‘til she’s physically overspent,

though deep down her spirit still feels ever so under nourished.

Feeling empty and alone, she reach out, make contact, telephone,

calling a friend and in misery like-minded company together

bemoan their condition- though they dress it up in

other people’s Isms and Kisms.

Then in the early hours of the morn,

she falls asleep on sofa, exhausted, forlorn,

as her Soul resumes complete control, and sighs

‘maybe tomorrow she’ll arise and quit

this God forsaken Tick Tock Rat Race Chimes.

‘Then again, better not leave it purely to chance-

that wouldn’t be wise, I will make a visit in her dreams

as he sleeps tonight….

I know exactly which dream I will grace

them with my presence; the One where they arise,

and realise, that the real nightmare is the story of their

unlived waking lives.’

October 2003

Peace & Love,


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