It's a cry for help; a whisper in the wind, perhaps.

Unknown to the rest of the world, a silent killer.

It's like drowning in a puddle, or searing skin on a match,

Grabbing a deflated life preserver, or drenching a flame with a teaspoon.

It's heart wrenching and unbearable at times,

Fighting perpetually in a rigged contest.   

Enduring an endless battle.

It's debilitating. 

Time is but an illusion which we believe to be a reality.

It is an abstract thought, given meaning through the obedience of human kind.

We are a slave to the clock, adjusting our lives to fit into a 24-hour window.

It is an entity which controls us from conception to cessation. 

Time is an idea brought to life by those who fear death.

I was walking home on a cool Friday evening.

The freshly fallen leaves tumbled across the sidewalk in the light breeze.

A street light up ahead revealed two figures.

As I approached one of the figures departed, leaving behind the most beautiful form I had ever seen.

The careless wind carried the scent of forgotten tragedies and undiscovered misery.

I was immediately intrigued as I neared the figure.

As we spoke I become intoxicated by the words anguish.

I felt a responsibility, to help this person.

The advancements I made were welcomed, but not without hesitation.

I quickly lost control.  

Suddenly euphoria washed over my body.  It was done.

I become infatuated with the feeling.

I craved the excitement, knowing I was capable of destroying such precious balance.

I stare down at the blank abyss.

It's mocking me.

I'm going on a week now.

Anxious sweat fills my palms.

I can not muster these feelings into words.

It is heart wrenching to watch so much potential dissolve.

I can not bear to stare at this blank slate a second more.

My sanity has reached its limit.

I yearn to translate this foreign language to beautiful song. 

My body itches with distress.

Just one sentence is all it takes to pull me from the void.

I am in control of my life! ..or am I?

This question circulates my thoughts often enough to drive me to insanity.

I ponder on this subject for many days and nights.

I have concluded I am not.

Jealousy controls me when I see what I can not attain.

Gluttony controls me when I consume too much at dinner.

My selfish temptations control me when no one is around.

Even in the bright of my days.

The sun determines my outdoor activities.

The wind determines whether I stay inside all day.

The price tag determines what I wear.

No matter the situation, pleasant or troubling, as much as I strive to be in control; the extremities of life continue to find a way to control me.  

"You deserve better," he whispered.

How could he possibly say that.  I look up to his disheartened brown eyes, glistening from the oncoming tears.  Every night I yearn to rest my eyes comforted by his embrace.  His words are a sweet melody which I could listen to every night.  His hair, falling so effortlessly on his forehead is enough to take my breath away.  His love is unconditional. His patience is more than I deserve.

Its been five years and he still loves me as if its the first day.

"You are the best," I respond.    

It does not hide in the dark.

It frolics in the light of day.

It is not something to fear, it is to be respected.

Eventually it will call for us all.

It is inevitable, slowing processes to cessation.  

It caresses the young and protects the elderly.

It does not care for height, weight, or age.

It does not boast or gloat, it does not rage with anger.

It is calm and considerate, it is patient and passionate.

However we reach the end of the road, death loves us all the same.

I am constantly reassuring myself that its all worth it; but then again, is it?

The camera loves me, the audience roars with acceptance and love.

The mirror portrays a different story.

The story of an unknown entity struggling through every day.

I will never understand why others praise me and hold me so high.

I am not perfect, I am not beautiful, I am no one.

Everyday I fight, I scream and curse my reflection.

Who is this stranger I encounter every day.

What is this strange sense of displacement I feel every ticking minute.

I am at war, a never-ending battle for a victory I don't want.

Why should I fight for a place I don't deserve, a throne I am unworthy of.

I want to know why I feel this way, why I relentlessly misunderstand myself.

I am treading on broken ice, the slightest misstep will send me plunging underneath.  

That sound, there it is again.

What is that noise? Howling, Barking, Whimpering?

Is that me?

I follow this unforgiving road, dodging the debris and potholes.  I approach a shore line and dip my toe to test the temperature.  The water is warm and welcoming, I dive in.  The current rapidly increases and I am swept away from shore.  I am consumed by the ocean, being pushed around by waves of sorrow and remorse.  I fight and swim to no avail, the water has depleted my hope.  I cave under the pressure and allow my body to flow freely into the depths of the unknown.