The little Big Fight

it creeps up on me

as slimy as ever,

i writhe in its touch

entangled in its gossamer,

then it pops up a question:

"when will you, my dear?"

i jostle around

in my wonderland surreal,

juggling the question

not believing i'm in peril

i pretend to have not heard -

the omen that is now so real

the writing is etched on the wall

its naked elements exposed

i give it one last shot

perhaps it is all I've got

alas! the will is lost in vain...

and my conscience wins again!

P.S: every morning my conscience teases me - wake up at 6, huh?