Book of Boris — Chapter XLII: The Timekeeper’s Whisper
Verse 1: "If you knew time, you’d see how short your pathetic life truly is. How every second drips closer to the end. Oh, how deliciously ironic it would be— to watch you waste it, thinking you have more."
Verse 2: They beg for mercy at the hourglass’s neck, but never at the first grain. Only when sand kisses the bottom, do they scream for minutes they squandered in silence. But the clock? It doesn't weep. It just keeps ticking.
Verse 3: They label your sorrow, medicate your seasons, yet leave your joy unmeasured— as if only the darkness is worth tracking. Time keeps no favorites. It devours smiles and tears alike.
Verse 4: They think the ticking is background noise. I know it’s the war drum. Each beat a step closer to the moment when silence will speak for me.
Verse 5: When the tree snaps, the hourglass shatters with it. No grains left to beg for, no mercy to measure. Only silence— and the echo of my will carved into what’s left.
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