Wicked Little Clock by Nicole Surginer

I stand cast in shadow
of dark raven wings
In maddening clamor
they hover empty sky
The stars have been stolen
Time raptured the moon
Bloodied tears rain down
from raging ebony sky
Scorching my skin, stinging
my worthless guides of eyes
The ticking of that wicked little
clock thunders through my chest
Stifling air strips the breath
from my shuddering lungs
Armageddon’s trumpet blares loudly,
rattling my skull.
Fear reaches down to smother me
She wraps her hands around my throat
I mock her weakness
for loneliness owns my soul
and brokenness my heart
Emptiness is the greatest terror


Nicole Surginer is a poet from the small country town of Bastrop, Texas. She is inspired to write by her love for nature’s enchantment, a fascination with the power of raw, intense emotion and a desire to create beauty with words. She has been published in Tuck Magazine, Anti-Heroin Chic, Indiana Voice Journal, Tuck Magazine, Sick Lit Magazine and pending works in the Contemporary Poets Facebook group anthology, “Dandelion in a vase of roses

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