I sit and rot
Wishing I could turn back the clock
A thief in a thought
With a litany of failures to mock

©2025

I am scared
of what waits for me
over the horizon.

I stand on the edge,
looking tentatively
into the black abyss
that will soon engulf me.

‘Please.’
I whisper, ‘tell me,
will I find someone
to have and to hold,
to grow old with.

Tell me,
Beyond the blur of tomorrow
will I succumb to the
pressures of the people,
letting my dreams wither and die.
Or will I raise anarchy,
so that my dreams may fly.

I know,
I will lose many,
friends, foes and family
and I grieve
for the loses to come,
for I fear the day
I will have none.

The sharp taps of the clock await my silence to break free from my wistful whisper—to never hear it while my eyes are shot open, to find my nerve and trigger it—as the sadness carefully passes through my system. Too far gone to care, leaving me paralyzed in a cold, soft, sinking bed.

It was a momentary piece where my head had the sensation of being stroked like piano keys, where a soft yet disturbing melody filled the place, and I closed my eyes, lulling me to my deep slumber.

There’s that unknown peace where a deep slumber could lead to an eternal doom—where the past, the present, and the future collide together, where everything exists together, whether in a beautiful song that’s pieced together, or loneliness held in thousands of agonies.

One thing is for sure, I have the guts to love the doomsday, and all things are possible because it is the end of May.