clock toils its time—it's time for life,
life's most perilous grand journey.
the snake tightens its grip around his neck,
as he surfaces from bathtub's shallow water,
for it's not drowning that is his demise,
no—it's air's extinction.
the snake coils itself around his head, like a crown,
gifting him sleepless nights, full of waking man's nightmares:
the bottle's shards in the heart,
rejection's painful strikes deep in his mind.
his end begins with lack of every thing imaginable:
energy, strength, desire, happiness, hope, love.
like a ghost living amidst us, a mere shell of what is left of him.
day and night—a struggle—as his will leaves him bit by bit.
amidst the pendulum stands snake's poison—
so elusive and so dear.
it's incredible how much he chases the high,
finding solace in its terrible embrace.
his beginning ends with persecution.
endless stories told by hidden messages.
madness unfolded, spread and laid out like a path,
that he takes as soon as no-one's in touch.
and what is left of life's time?
gone, gone are the stars.
