broken clocks

When I was younger I was deathly afraid of ghosts.

Every night for eight months I woke up at 3:24 a.m.

I awoke with the feeling of eyes glaring at me.

With a flashlight in hand, I walked to my closet and pulled on the string and a yellow bulb shined.

I went to my parents’ room and slept in their bed.

I finally felt safe in my father's arms.

Years later, my friend had paid another visit,

although we lived contently for two months.

Now he haunts,

he lurks around all corners of my life.

We mutually became attached to each other,

feeding off of our energies until the battery has died.

My clock stands at 3:24 A.M.,

beaming red lights without flashes.

I have a box of clocks locked in my closet.

The light no longer works.

My flashlight is going to die soon.

I’m not safe anymore.

I can’t lock him out.

My ghost pays a visit every day at 3:24 A.M.

But my clock doesn’t change.

I’m not safe anymore.