My Confession

Time moves so slow here; sometimes I wonder if it even exists at all.
The sun rises and sets on its own free will. Days, or what we could come to call them if time truly is in lack, change as swiftly to night as water rushes down a cliff; at times, I forget there was ever any day at all. The nights stretch into what most call tomorrow, but what is tomorrow if I cannot remember yesterday. My concepts of one circadian rhythm to the next have been thrown askew by the horrible arrangement I have my priorities in. Where does my allegiance lie? Whom do I trust? Who am I?

I am a tired man who believes too easily, yet trusts a fair few; I am a man whose darkened visage sheds light on the tired battle that is already long since begun inside his heart. A man who has made his King a thing that will surely fade.