Here we are. Back again. This is the only constant. That clock will always strike 3 and I will be there to see. The gloomy street is only illuminated by a single damp lamp, that shows all those who walk on it together, but alone with desolate hearts. The dark fills me up. And doesn't let go. It wrangles me, fills my head with thoughts, I know to not be true, but at that time I cannot dispute. Feelings cease to exist and it all just becomes a depressed mess. My heart wants to be free. I am the one who put it in chains. My only escape is to fall asleep and hope it goes away. I'm scared. What if, one day I wake up and it is still 3 a.m.? And it always will be 3 a.m. There is nothing I'm sure of.
Only that the clock will always strike 3.
