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Description
The Clockwork in our souls ticks slowly round.
Small indentations are inscribed into each wheel,
Their beauty almost hypnotizing.
The craft so individual,
The detail so refined,
The timing so fragile.
With every day that goes along,
The connection becomes weaker.
The cogs ticking round again,
Their speed beginning to decrease.
They've begun to rust.
The gears tick on,
The constant struggle to keep going destroying the clock.
The gears begin to snap,
Shifting out of place.
The timing changes,
And it all just stops.