The Sounds

Ticking-ticking from the clock,
Echoing the tock-tock-tock.
What’s that ringing in my ears?
The sounding of passing years.
I hear creaking on the floor—
There—there’s movement near the door.
Drumming coming form the fridge,
Now the furnace plays the bridge.
Tapping-tapping on my back,
Sinking-sinking into black,
Spinning-spinning who is there?
What has entered and from where?
Emptiness is what I see
Staring back, looking for me.
But the door- who gave that rap?
And on my back- who … that tap?
Now the water starts to drip—
Sinking deeper in the trip.
Drifting silence fills the room,
Locking itself in my tomb.