Tip clacking

Tip tap tip tap
The clock ticks away
As you let the night pass
The present seep into the past
And the future moving father
And farther
Away

Tip tap tip tap
Your fingers run across the keyboard
Words pouring—no, deleting
Words pause move, unable to flow freely
In this dead of the night

Tip tap tip tap
The 3am night has its own melody
Different from the 6pm or the 10pm
Or the 5pm
Is that still night?

Tip tap tip tap
Your list of tasks seems to be pilling up
And up and up
Never ending stack
Like a never ending supply of ammunition
Or an infinite climb of stairs
Or an unlimited supply of burden

Tip tap tip tap
The clock ticks away
As you let the morning pass
And the afternoon, and the evening
And the days turn into weeks
Into months and years
Until you’ve become an empty shell

Tip tap tip tap