It ticks, directionless

Time is a treacherous thing,
It paves a route with no end,
An opportunity for a neutrally aligned mind,
To sink into a whirlwind of aimless defeat,
A temporarily everlasting numbness,
Brought upon us by an idle mind,
An idle mind that combines past, present and future thoughts,
Into a cocktail of emotions sometimes unknown by the host itself,
Though we have felt and will continue to feel,
Emotions devour us,
Against our own will,
And the option of being saved,
Ceases to exist.