Torn between two different worlds,
I stand in the middle of the time itself,
In hell what they call the state of waiting,
Clinging to the last threads of hope,
I lose grip on the sanity and nature of reality,
Do I deserve the world that I live in,
Even though it pushed me to leave it,
Do I believe in the world that showed promise,
Only to get ignored and conveniently missed,
Maybe time knows the answer,
And I am so tuned with the time counting it,
That I can hear its heartbeat,
Which is as cold as it can get,
With an eternity passing between each minute,
I hold on to the hope while getting torn,
That time will take me where I belong,
Not before it is too long.