I hear the second hand tick when I close my eyes.
My atomic mind is always on time.
I see the future and mold it to my will.
My feet have never known what it feels like to stand still.

These past few years I’ve counted every six minutes.
But before then I don’t know that I was any better.
Obsessed with the clock. Engrossed by the schedule.
Out on my own as I built my own fetters.

So perfectly wound that any nudge caused catastrophe.
So ritualistic that spontaneity atrophied.
So I decided to it all behind.
But even in another world, it’s still on my mind.

I pray to the earth that this land will by my remedy.
Different continents; different priorities.
As the hands of my consciousness start to unwind.