If our lives were a clock, what kind of timepiece would we be?

Would we be broken and still be right twice a day?

Would we be precise, like a Swiss clock?

Would we be as slow as an hourglass?

Or would we be something much different?

Perhaps if we were honest, we’d already know.

As our resentments have grown, our answer is evident.

As we struggle from one day to the next to cohabitate, should it not be plain to see?

Combustible love met by volcanic rage. Our together lives are one minute to midnight.

We are the Doomsday Clock.