Your watch battery died yesterday, in the middle of the night.
The hands stopped moving and the face
Stood still and glassed over.
The internal workings deceased,
The cogs have stopped turning.
The leather grows weaker every day.
The surface fades.
It crinkles and cracks around the hole
That is perpetually punctured by the buckle.
The thing that holds it to me degrades
As I access it over and over,
I'm scared to take it off in case I lose it.
Even though I knew that this would happen, I still didn't expect it.
Not this soon. Not this silent.
I convinced myself it would carry on forever,
In perpetual motion
At the edge of it's life.