The world stands against me.

Not like a simple wall—

Stationary and keeping me from passing;

Not like a mere hurdle—

Present but still able of being overcome with a quick jump;

It is not like those things.

Like a black hole—

Growing and growing, its path of madness unstoppable

Sucking me in to become just another person who has succumbed;

Like a virus—

Spreading and spreading, its plague of terror incurable

Taking root inside of me and making give in to its pressure;

It is like these things.

The world does not know that it is like these things,

It simply does as is expected,

Just as the people do as is expected.

But I refuse to do what is expected of me.

As the world stands against me,

I stand against it.

Against the black holes of blissful ignorance

Against the viruses of juvenile maturity

Against the world as it stands against me.

You ask what makes me tick?

This immovable object called the world makes me tick.

Its tick is my tock

And as long as it keeps ticking, I will keep talking.