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I wakened on my hot, hard bed;
Upon the pillow lay my head;
Beneath the pillow I could hear
My little watch was ticking clear.
I thought the throbbing of it went
Like my continual discontent;
I thought it said in every tick:
I am so sick, so sick, so sick:
O death, come quick, come quick, come quick,
Come quick, come quick, come quick, come quick...

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Tue, 2025-06-10 12:50
#1

That poem hits deep—how something as small as a watch can echo emotional unrest. It actually reminded me why I ended up buying a replica timepiece that felt more uplifting. Solid build, elegant design, and none of that soulless mass-production vibe. It's now more than just a watch to me.