The Eternal Wait, Bound
Inside a Vicious Circle
The days fall like withered leaves in a dying forest, yet the month stretches on, unyielding, endless.
I wish to sever time’s relentless march, to cut its head and halt its cruel advance.
I wish to sever time’s relentless march, to cut its head and halt its cruel advance.
Demons rise from the abyss, their whispers filling the caverns of my shattered mind,
They torment me, pulling at the strings of sanity until they fray,
I chase these beasts, but like the Hydra, every severed head spawns more,
They multiply, laughing in the chaos of my futile efforts.
They torment me, pulling at the strings of sanity until they fray,
I chase these beasts, but like the Hydra, every severed head spawns more,
They multiply, laughing in the chaos of my futile efforts.
A ghostly fog wraps around me, suffocating with every breath I dare to take.
A mere smile or a whisper is enough to summon it back,
It feeds on joy, on the fleeting illusions of peace,
The venom courses through my veins, and with each breath I suffocate,
The air thickens, as if it conspires to crush the last remnants of my will.
A mere smile or a whisper is enough to summon it back,
It feeds on joy, on the fleeting illusions of peace,
The venom courses through my veins, and with each breath I suffocate,
The air thickens, as if it conspires to crush the last remnants of my will.
So many answers lie behind gates I cannot open,
Doors I cannot understand, and the weight of my ignorance only grows.
I long to carve meaning from the stone I’ve found,
To shape it, to make it mine, to mold it into something that glimmers in the shadows of my ethereal world.
Doors I cannot understand, and the weight of my ignorance only grows.
I long to carve meaning from the stone I’ve found,
To shape it, to make it mine, to mold it into something that glimmers in the shadows of my ethereal world.
But Pandora’s box waits, and I swore never to pry it open again,
Yet curiosity gnaws at the edges of my sanity, it beckons, it taunts.
The afflictions inside, the grotesque dancers of death and misery, await their release.
Yet curiosity gnaws at the edges of my sanity, it beckons, it taunts.
The afflictions inside, the grotesque dancers of death and misery, await their release.
Why go on, when I am forced to drink from the Styx, its black waters pouring poison into my soul?
Limbo becomes my prison, where mere conversation with the living feels like a distant prize I may never reach.
Limbo becomes my prison, where mere conversation with the living feels like a distant prize I may never reach.
I wander deeper into this labyrinth, searching for the Minotaur that hides within.
I have yet to find it. Perhaps it is a myth, or perhaps it waits for me at the end,
The head of the month, where the cycle breaks, and time itself dies.
I have yet to find it. Perhaps it is a myth, or perhaps it waits for me at the end,
The head of the month, where the cycle breaks, and time itself dies.
Since my fall into Tartarus, rest has become a memory, distant and unattainable.
Yet I stand, fighting the legions of each passing day,
Struggling to break free, to turn the very darkness into my triumph,
To forge this nightmare into something I can call victory.
Yet I stand, fighting the legions of each passing day,
Struggling to break free, to turn the very darkness into my triumph,
To forge this nightmare into something I can call victory.
