12 Hour Unravelling (One Take)

Chapter 1 — Hour One

Eli sat by the window, the pale morning light filtering through restless shadows. His mind churned — thoughts swirling like restless currents, pulling him beneath layers of memory and doubt. He felt detached, remote, like a creature living in a world no longer his own. To lose that distance was to lose control, and that scared him deeply.

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By hour one –

the clarity is a search of my own reflections

Swimming in these many thoughts; in the currents

of past, present – an unforeseeable future.

A creature… to live so remote in their own

former world; but once they lose that remote

They in turn lose control.

Chapter 2 — Hour Two

As time ticked onward, the weight of fate felt heavier, like worn hand-me-down clothes. Eli carried his burdens quietly, wearing his melancholy like a crown in a lonely kingdom. Those around him whispered doubts and judgments, as depression crept in uninvited like an unwelcome guest. Though he was meant to be the master of his thoughts, exhaustion unravelled his mental army, leaving disorder and unrest.

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By hour two –

the hands of fate start to feel like hand-me-downs

Looked at as a frown, with these heavy thoughts

that I carry as a crown, in an unknown kingdom.

But don’t the servants look for faults in their king –

his depression becomes distinguished guests

Never loved, while also being vaguely tolerated;

but when the man who’s supposed to be in charge of your thoughts, is drained… the army stands out of order.

Chapter 3 — Hour Three

In the quiet moments, Eli noticed the small, silent noises of his mind — distractions and nuisances preoccupied with themselves, yet going nowhere. He felt like a sinking boat, water rising above his throat, choking his words before they could surface. Expressing his struggles felt forbidden, his touch on reality like declawed soft paws, unable to fight for himself anymore.

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By hour three –

just watch and listen, to the silent noises,

Nuisances preoccupied with themselves, but not doing

so much – there’s no real need to paddle here,

In a sinking boat.

The waters above my throat, choking on my words;

to express life’s delicate moments; my struggles are furtive

My touch on reality is as soft paws – declawed from fighting

for myself.

Chapter 4 — Hour Four

Eli felt wounded, like a beast forced to lick its own injuries. To survive, he masked his scent, avoiding danger but stealing what he could from life’s fleeting moments. He lived lifelessly, trapped in a prison without walls, falling apart inside. Solitary and untethered, he realized that trying to be someone else only left him more lost.

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By hour four –

the wounded beast must lick its wounds,

To kill the scent of itself to avoid being killed itself,

stealing all that can feed them like a shy toddling raccoon.

By the undoing of finding life through lifeless living –

this prison has no walls, but somehow everything falls

Solitary, and untethered to myself; there’s no real sense

of self, but it fairs no better trying to play somebody else.

Chapter 5 — Hour Five

His own voice sounded foreign — a stranger wearing his face. He walked a narrow, one-track path, yet his thoughts derailed like a broken train, leaving trails of smoke but no rain to wash away his despair. In this grey haze, sorrow poured down like relentless storms.

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By hour five –

my own voice sounds so strange

Who is this stranger carrying my face with a smile,

even though I don’t smile that way, don’t curve that way

Walking along the path of a one-track mind,

yet, so distant; for my train of thought has derailed

Locomotive labours; the trail of industry follows like

a cloud of smoke, grey and heavy, but it never really

rains – but when it comes to despair… it always pours.

Chapter 6 — Hour Six

Eli realized he’d forgotten his rain boots, stepping helplessly into wide, muddy puddles of doubt. He longed to wash his stained heart, yet breaking promises to himself filled him with blame. Though many cannot undo what’s done, his life remained unfinished, patiently awaiting the sun’s return.

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By hour six –

I realise that I left my rain boots, stepping into puddles

mud puddles wider than my passion; a dirty intent

To embrace that which says will clean my heart’s stain,

and to compromise one’s promise to themselves…

But when you break that promise, who do you hold

responsible – so many cannot undo what they do.

Yet this life remains undone, waiting for the sun.

Chapter 7 — Hour Seven

The sun crept up like a thief, peeking shyly above distant mountains. Eli held tightly to the past, like a cold glove on his hand, yearning to stand in the shade where shadows could chase him. To hide scars, he cloaked himself in darkness, burying wounds no one else could see.

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By hour seven –

the sun creeps up like a thief, peeping through mountains

Above all that I value of myself, though the waters still

feel like a cold glove – a singular bondage, holds onto the past

Present contrasts, are where I love to stand under the shade,

where the sun shines, my shadow can easily chase after me.

So, I must cover it with the dark – and bury every scar!

Chapter 8 — Hour Eight

At the gate of his mind, shadows shook with restless energy, pale and towering like giants shaped by his fears. Though surrounded by crowds, Eli felt isolated, crowded by doubts as salty as the sea, his wounds aching with each bitter touch.

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By hour eight –

I can hear them shaking at the gate; caged yes

but they want to escape; pale and monolithic

The giants only stand tall as how I see them –

silence now, even in the crowd of crowds;

I’m crowded by my doubts that are dabbed into the sea,

and the taste of my covered wounds, rise by the touch of salt.

Chapter 9 — Hour Nine

Eli tried to run from himself but realized he never learned how to walk properly. His undeveloped self-stumbled through dark corridors of memory, weighed down by the years lost to silence. He never allowed himself the innocence of childhood—never learned to crawl, and that loss haunted him still.

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By hour nine –

how I semi crawled; trying to run from myself

But I never taught myself how to walk,

as an undeveloped form, tested to no end –

As I exam my life, for years knowing nothing

as walked so loudly down these dark corridors

For I never let myself live as a child when I was

still a child…

I never allowed myself to crawl.

Chapter 10 — Hour Ten

Facing his inner monster, Eli found it vacant and starved, mirroring his own emptiness. He had grown numb to antiseptic rooms of routine and rote phrases. He had fallen down the staircase of his life, only to find the top was inverted — an illusion turned inside out.

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By hour ten –

I gaze at my monster face to face, vacant

what more can I feed them, when I’m starved myself?

Antiseptic rooms; I’ve grown a tolerance where I stay

trained to say, “yes, I’m doing okay”

For whatever reason, I started to believe the phrase

myself – I tumbled down the stairs of this house

Staring at the supposed top; but the top itself was

just upside down.

Chapter 11 — Hour Eleven

It was time to watch the old house burn — the one built hastily in panic, now abandoned and rotting. Windows cracked and wailed with ghostly moans as doors fell from their hinges. Though haunted by darkness, Eli moved with grace, skipping over water to wherever his end might be.

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By hour eleven –

it’s time for me to watch the house burn down

The cracking of windows that were dusty inside;

this once abandoned dwelling, put together in a panic

Hear the doors falling off their hinges, their shrieks

and ghostly moans – haunted, in a way of the darkness

approaching. The wall’s skin is rotting, peeling away

in screams – but I carry stone ears, skipping over the water

with grace, to wherever my end will end.

Chapter 12 — Hour Twelve

Finally, Eli stood before his true self — no longer a character reciting lines, but a person raw and real. The worn script torn away, he wandered uncertain, wondering who he could still become. The future was unknown, but in this moment, he felt a fragile taste of freedom.

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And by hour twelve –

who am I now… now longer myself

Concentrating on this character, they learned

all they could – with a script that wasn’t their own

But it’s torn now, I am no longer a character, but

rather the real person not rehearsing their worth

I wander now, I wonder what more I can be…

who really knows but the future, though in the present –

am I finally, and fully free?