I am clockwork.

I am planned to every motion.
Every tick along my chosen path ties me to the track upon which my cogs roll.

My choices are wrong.
But I can't help them.
So I tick.

I wish I could have chaos and a path chosen, not welded. I wish I could contort it to my will.

I am tired of impulse.
Tick.

And the impulse slice, like a metal coat hanger through wet skin.

Tick.

And I bleed... to control something, uncontrolable.

My sphere controls me.
It's too late for democracy, my clockwork has out voted me. I am no longer in control.

"I'm like a dog chasing cars, I wouldn't know what to do with one if I caught it... I just do things."
-the Joker

Yes
No
Do nothing