The pendulum swings its wide arch, cutting through the air with threatening strokes.
Its sharp blade is ever present and always moving closer in arks of fear.
The pit lies below in dark, endless depths of nothingness.
Its cry is one of forever and silence.

I am in between, and I must choose between the sharp abrasions of the ever threatening pendulum, or the hollow death of the pit.

Each moment the pendulum sweeps closer, and I dodge it, but not before I have felt the hair shaved from my arms or the air stir from its movement.

And I am relieved and safe for a while until another choice must be made, and the pendulum moves another notch closer.

The pit is always waiting.  I have poked my head inside, but have never wholly ventured into its permanence.  The pit is always the last escape and awaits if the pendulum cuts too deep.

Each time I must decide.  “Will it be the pit or will it be the pendulum?”