A clock with dying batteries

I consider me a wild thick forest
Left alone with no one caring
My sense of self has abandoned me

I’m the victim of the open wound sting
A thought of malady and suicide
Death is too late coming

Once a jewel of the shop
One of Maker’s begotten sons
Tick-tocking with fellow tick-tocks

I would show off my twelve packs
Like brightly coloured petals
Pray tell, the gesture of my hands now

Till she walked in blink and smile
Held me like the baby of her manger
In love with my hands of unequal length

For a card through a slot
She brought me to her rustic home
And crucified me on her wall

For seasons, she comes inquiring
Footsteps proceeding, footsteps receding
Not a word, then she leaves again

If she stares at me long
It's not for want of fondness
Maybe I’m suffering to stroke

A cycle of resurrection and reset
These batteries come and leave
I remain a Gold Coast slave on western soil

How I wish the earth would shake
Then I’ll fall like Humpty, face first
And spread a broken laugh,my last goodbye