Losing Time

Monday, Tuesday, Friday.

The days slip by my fingers,

Clawing at each one that passes. 

The clock ticks,

The right hand moving at a rapid pace.

I grab his hand and push back,

But I always fall.

Getting swept passed each number.

Tossed around and bruised.

With nothing to do,

Besides, accept it.

Time will wipe me away—

I'll be nothing but a memory.