Twilight, fading heavily with one
lonely motion into midnight.
This time, he will make it right.
A sincere prayer motivates his
decaying desire to live, foolishly
knowing the results of tomorrow.
Day sounds quickly, making
noise that disrupts his hoping heart.
The curse within screeches for more sin, it is
provoked by the man's feeble attempts.
Focus becomes merely a drug,
an opium that dissipates the reason,
that very reason for breathing.
The familiar exchange is made,
his seculiar mind relapses into
miserly moments spent as his adolescence.
Age is insignificant, for pain personates
the dominant role of every stage.
Twilight, fading heavily with one
lonely motion into midnight.
This time, will he make it right?
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