the tap drips

the tap drips every minute
the fork moves from the plate
the clock ticks away each second
the rattle of the gate
the walls move ever closer
the carpet gathers dust
the fly lives and dies
the fork begins to rust
the pulse thick and fading
the words still never said
the carousel turns steadily
the widening of the bed
the green fades into yellow 
the sun replaced by cold
the house stands silently still
as all within grows old