like sludge, the thoughts move
a stretch of endless eternity
as punishment for a waste of decent time.
the command from on high:
"stop being sad, stop being difficult"
and when you cannot
then the sacrifice shall be your own being;
the Devil's animal, so
fair of face and sly of spirit,
yowls and drags the moment on.
the judgement remains unpronounced still:
what to do
with such a waste
of precious time?