Soliloquy

I rush through the morning without inching a glance
Towards the cacophony that the clock creates.
The hands tick on in an inflated silence that
Only my past can understand right then and there.
History is too troublesome, harried and beyond
Capacity to concern me; at times it feels profane
And unnecessary too. Another year lies ahead of me
In an exaggeration that Time can only half-smile at;
I walk past the doors of Love created unknowingly
Within the courtyards of the clouds of despondency.
I laugh at the vulgar renunciations that I have had
To essay in order to walk over such corpses;
Life is too strong a term to coin to the pain that
Experiences bring about and bother my countenance.
“The day is difficult to start,” I read, eyes fully open,
“I leave it at the top of a hill the night before.”