The crocodile

I would give anything to borrow captain Hook's hammer,
to escape the crocodile.
How cruel the clock that ticks on a silver chain.
How cold the metal casing.
With each time my hand travels to my pocket,
a new burn,
as fingers brush gleaming steel.

Colored Band

This colored band,
this piece of cloth that never leaves,
has lost it's youthful charm.
The gash it rubbed in my leg
only an ironic reminder.

This colored band,
this piece of cloth I can't take off,
clings to my leg like a shackle,
leaving a trail of blood running to my sock.
An ironic reminder of a rose turned thorn.