Time swam like oceans sailing on the hands of a clock.

Fingers that were once fearlessly spread, now with nuckles drawn
and with tightened skin to the bone.

Yet her eyes in anguish,
shone like silk under those heavy coats of cotton.

She was washed out in winter, and dried out in summer.

The plug pulled, only to find the water had already gone.
The oceans of time had stopped ticking.

The water had bleed into her soul.

Her life now lay closer to death.