When You Return

The creativity has been rung from my brain
like a washcloth ready to dry
My socks tighten and my toes
can't move freely without aching feet
My eyes struggle to stay open, my spine struggles to stay erect,
and my mind finds itslef spiraling
to lost things––regrets.

My clock is broken––the seconds hand
repeating its ticking from the two to the three
tick tick tick tick
An invasive ring of the grandmother clock
overbears my mind
and with a throbbing head, I go about my day