Antique Clock in a Storage Unit

For years, my springs have not been tight enough,
And I have been lying around dormant,
Sitting amongst all this forgotten stuff,
Given no one to deliver my rant.
One day that sliding door opened to light,
So I could run my hands across my face.
My innards wanted to put up a fight
To let you know that I was in this space.
You moved on to browse the other junk,
And I wanted to make my voice be heard,
So with the rhythm of a ticking punk,
I shouted out my only chiming word.
I did not know it would give you unease
To hear from rarely given vocal tease.

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