Tick Tock

The Wizard gave me a toy

A heart-shaped clock that

goes tick-tock—tick-tock—tick-tock—

a hollow rhythm

for a hollow man.

It counts only the minutes

I spend watching the pulse

in Dorothy’s neck.

I am jealous of the way she breathes,

how her chest heaves with

ruby-red heaviness.

She carries a prize I was promised;

I received only brass.

I am tired of the tick-tock mockery.

I want the thumping, the beating,

the frantic, panicked pulse

that makes her flush, makes her fret.

I raise my axe—familiar, cold—

to swing at the girl,

to crack the cage of her ribs

and steal her beat.

She goes down easy.

I rip the organ from her chest,

force it into my void,

finally feeling the weight

of a heart—

but it’s still not mine.

The tick-tock of the Wizard’s lie continues.