Along the corridors
Of oblivion
Footsteps are not heard
Voices are stifled
Presence, like an apparition
Seen through
Glares of the outside world
Creates an inferno
Only ashes, of your times
Even the clock’s hands
Are too hot to touch
Pushed into oblivion
Crushed by fate
Only you and yourself
Not one hand
To pull you toward the future
From the present
Odd predicament