Empty spaces

So far out of my time zone,
No one can reach me
But the master of these clocks.
I’m closer to the first hand than I’d like to be.
An atmosphere that suffocates;
A rythem that passes by on deaf ears.

In the middle of space faces seem so
Far away.
Life feels like a boulder and
These boulevards I crossed
Constantly play with my confidence.
Confiding in old scenic routes.
Who knows but the master of clocks?

Untouched by the second hands
Of those who rotate around my zone.
To those who only know the years
But can’t count the painful seconds.

The master twists, and turns
As we breath, regret, and fear the next hour.
My wrists bear the splendor of
Victory in seconds.

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