Penning these words, the hours pass me like years

Every second seems to weigh heavily as if it were a sin on my conscience

Determining what it is, the fate of one, factored a million ways like shattered glass

I never truly could understand what made me the way I am

So I stare at the face of the clock, surreptitiously feeling the impending crash

Invade my blood, creeping through my mind and holding my soul hostage

As if I were waiting for the moment of truth, waiting to hear the horror escape the lips

No turning back from my course

Even as I feel the uneven silence cascade like Niagara Falls

I await the crashing thunder, and watch the lightning dance across the skies that is my life

In short order, my world should return to normal,

As if I were muscle and bone distended and blood poisoned

By destiny, I could never choose the path I knew I should

Because wisdom is not gained through easy successions of triumph

But why must I continue to fail when I know I should succeed?

Words mean nothing, when you lie to bend the truth

Did I bend that truth, or did I flat out deny it as I deny myself pleasure for sake of righteousness

I can’t stop staring at the clock, as if it were the last measure of my life

As if I were written Adagio con fuoco

And my life passionately blazes as a meteor to fall from the midnight sky

What hypnotizes me worse, the time which inches by, or the Aria of Sorrow I know awaits me

At the end of This Movement, played with fire, and now ends in sustaining notes

It feels my blood pumps as if it were Beethoven composing me, the keys of my life

Lifting the hammer to strike the chords of melancholy, dispassion and misery

Though I stare at the clock, waiting for the inevitable truth to strike me as if

Zeus had uplifted the bolt of lightning, and poised to hurl it at every second

And Time slows down even further…

As if I were trying to bend the truth, and the truth is said to set me free

Yet I know it to be a prison, and it is inescapable, palpable

It’s an oxymoron; it is tangible, yet intangible all the same.

The clock has come near the final moment,

And all is spent, as if we were lovers in the morning sun rising

I can contain no more suspense, and this writhing angst is a knife uplifted to strike

I can only hope, as I watch my own assassination take place under revelation

I can’t turn back, and I want to take back my life

I want to myself back to the beginning

Still, no matter what path I take, it is inevitable

Inevitable. Inevitable! Inevitable? Inevitable…

That word holds a chilling finality to it

A finality I knew when I kissed you goodbye and returned to the void

It was… inevitable