The inescapable words swirl

Through my conscience

And hurl

Arrows I cannot avoid.

And the monotonous voice that echoes,

Heard above all.

Measures.

As if success were a tangible unit,

Against which I could be compared.

Short again.

And once more the voice echoes.

Follows me wherever I should go.

Pushing me.

It is a strength.

And a downfall.

All at the same time.

A beautiful paradox

That is all mine.

For I recognize the voice.

It is my own.