I hear footsteps behind me like a ticking clock:
Approaching without reaching, proceeding without ceasing.
I hear voices, too - chaotic voices:
Jubilant, exuberant, frightened, enlightened -
All with those insubstantial human qualities
Never quite obtaining quality.
I'm tired of listening.
I'm weary of wondering if the stalking will ever stop.
I've stopped going; now, I just am.
I have no momentum left.
I am left only to wrestle with those shades -
Half-images of whom I might have become
Before I became.