Clockwork (IV)

With each passing day, I push myself further.
With each passing day, I work myself harder.
With each passing day, I toil to reach my limits, so as to force them upward, to force them outward.
Ever upward, ever outward.
The clockwork spins, ever faster.

I look out at the world, at my friends, at my family, at my coworkers, at my acquaintances, at the people whose activities I take interest in.
Are they pushing themselves further?
Are they working themselves harder?
Are they toiling to reach their limits, so as to force them upward, to force them outward?
Are they compelled into strange yet purposeful motion, animated by the oppressive glare of a monstrous mass of living machinery?
Or...

Am I alone in this?

I search for answers, but there are none to be found.
I ask for answers, but there are none to be found.
The clockwork offers me no consolance, but fills me with a brilliant, whirling flame of joy as I fulfill the ambitions it inspires within me.

Perhaps I will find the answers if I push myself further.
Perhaps I will find the answers if I work myself harder.
Perhaps I will find the answers if I toil to reach my limits, so as to force them upward, to force them outward.
Ever upward, ever outward.
The clockwork spins, ever faster.