The meter fills

With no ending in sight,

Consistency, messy, and overwhelming,

Hard to control.

Time makes the heart quaint

Filling up the crest.

The feelings become too much

Working me to the bone.

It slips and falls,

Matching the rhythm and beast.

Inside the soul,

Wrecking havoc with triumph.

Making my insides collapse

Into the abyss,

Stripped and tethered

Against control.