tick of the clock
rings
into the ears of the once
beautiful.
the aging
prince or princess
and his
or her
love of mirrors. but
slowly
feels quickly now,
now that
time has swallowed
youth
and health.
the dim light is fine.
the darkness
even better.
they cower in the shadows.
no longer
the light
of the party. avoiding
light
altogether.
and there's the awful
tick of the clock
that never
stops until they do.
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