A/N: Another strange poem, this again is completely my style, so I'm not really experimenting. Tell me what you think.
Disclaimer: I own nothing of POTO.
Summary: What does time mean to Erik?
Time
Not creatively, the clock hangs
Knocking on its hand's door
Above the heads of time
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Muted, the second
Pushes, not pausing and lurid
Pours on the heads
Drops on the floor of the past.