the creeping hour

Feeling dead,
as a clock creeps forward,
getting closer and closer to the special hour,
seeping deep into my subconcius,
keeping me quietly awake,
motionless to stare,
time echoes in my bleeding ears,
too pure to know this useless age,
dead in thought,
makes the sickness grow louder,
a rock concert sound,
a wild sound,
just a few min. shy of 8 hours,
the clock will take its final chime,
time will take a forbidden course,
no longer in a room of white,
trashed in black satin...

(gonna be more to this one i think...)