# PROGRESSIVE TIME *Semodius Blackriven | Southern Gothic Soul / Dark Americana* Come closer, darling. The hands are clean. The wound is open. The hour is mean. I set the moon inside its case, and taught the gears to bleed. She wore the night against her skin, and knew just what I need. I turned the screw; she turned the knife, both trembling at the touch. Some things are made to keep good time. Some things just wind too much. There's a little death in every tick, a little life in every tock. I know the way to make her move I only fear the lock. I'm taking time, and time takes me, we trade our skins for certainty. I wind her tight; she lets me go, then keeps the part I shouldn't know. The Devil waits between the chimes, with velvet hands and borrowed time. At Samhain, what we lay to rest comes back to see what we undressed. My lenses catch a violet moon, green fire beneath the glass. I see the future in her face, the dead in what has passed. Her second sight, my second hand, her first mistake, my last. I kiss the wound that made the clock, and ask how long she'll last. The spring is coiled, the hour is late, the key turns in the bone. I built a door inside the dark now something calls it home. I'm taking time, and time takes me, we trade our skins for certainty. I wind her tight; she lets me go, then keeps the part I shouldn't know. The Devil waits between the chimes, with velvet hands and borrowed time. At Samhain, what we lay to rest comes back to see what we undressed. Was it a pulse beneath my thumb? Was it the clock, or was it her? Was that the dead who called me home, or something worse that wore their words? I felt the future in my hands. It felt an awful lot like skin. The clock struck twelve. The room stood still. Something let the darkness in. I'm taking time, and time takes me, no wound stays shut indefinitely. I wind her slow; she winds me round, six feet up or six feet down. The Devil smiles; the gears align. Her breath runs warm against the time. And if the dawn should find us changed, who's to say which one was saved? One hand for sorrow. One hand for sin. One turn to end it. One turn again. The clock keeps perfect time.
