Zephyr

Time drags on, turns dysfunction into something quite close to chaos.

Petty duty, and irksome obligations bitter the taste of experience. 

My eyes become sightless amidst the monotonous familiarity and even my dreams dull in the cold grey light of ennui.

But I'll mask misery with inebriation, force laughs at long dead humour, pretend all is fine under this dying sun.

And as I stand with futile purpose crippled, a victim of my own clock, I put waning faith in the immortal moon and its stolen light. 

I smile, turn west with the wind, and ignore the stars as they regard me with their cosmic indifference.