The wind whistles beyond our imagination, through the sky, cosmos, beyond desolation. The clock will always Tick, Call me a sceptic. Oh, how oddly specific, Over 3 billion. Neither you nor me, more than civilian. I lost my rhythm, I may pick it up, Pontius, Nero, Cleopatra L'Inconnue de la Seine To be with them The greats, That has been decided by the fates, To see Peter at the gates, Freedom by all means, is at best a delusion A suffocation of our own conclusion. Marc Anthony, Socrates, Cleombrotus. Et te Brutus. How does it feel ? Relief ? Satisfaction? Everything has an equal and opposite reaction. I AM A MAN OF ACTION. Hemlock ? classic but gaudy, A king or queen ? Who shall I embody ? Monroe, Cobain, Hemingway, Woolf, just maybe someday ? What is the right path ? Plath ? Tock.