The Coffin

	It is a green room, the walls dusted white with chalk.
	The floor is a cold, brown marble and I am the clock.
	I am time, the musician, the rhyme.
	I am the murderer, the judge, and the crime.

	Everything enveloped in my icy palm,
				I'm scorching the world.
			Time is killing the Universe,
			there's not much time been used,
			but so much damage has been done.

			How can we dream?

			Where can you run?

			Nowhere.
			Nowhere but back to your coffin.
								~ Marilyn ~

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