Hypnotic

The metronome blankly ticks my consciousness away,

Counting the last moments before I become your prey.

I do not remember my name, I do not recall my age,

But you speak with conviction, and it tames my rage.

Next page, I must turn the next page of our story.

My dreams keep swearing you have always adored me.

But the suspicion grows like a seed in healthy soil,

And my soul warns me as you call me awfully spoiled.

Between car wrecks and stab wounds, you call for me,

Promising a brand-new start built on stolen honesty.

I do not remember ever asking you for this palace.

My role is a Sisyphean task, and I am not your Alice.

Yet, the metronome has no loyalty, it just ticks away,

Remolding my empty life from zero in scarlet clay.

-JW