Losing

The constant ticking of the clock becomes despised. The time keeper mocks me as it continues its course without pause. Each second gone is one more second lost, never to be regained or revisited. Gone. We truly are but mist in the wind, here for such a fleeting moment, it would seem foolish to think we are able to change the world. For the world never stops turning, even when its people mourn death. The sun rises each day, but so, too, does night fall each night. They say to look forward to the new morning, but I know what follows. The shadows always come. The darkness. Clouds cover the moon, leaving the earth in a blanket of black. The soul cannot help but panic. But I cry out only into my pillow where the agony is muffled. Some live in blissful ignorance. I live where the ignorance has shattered and cannot be repaired. The bliss is gone. For I know the evils of the world. I have tasted the bitterness of what the world has to offer. The vortex of madness awaits my arrival. Still I cling to the sliver of light that produces a single drop of hope. But my strength grows weak. Madness seems not as loathed as before.