I have so many things that I want to get off my chest, even if it’s turning myself upside down and pouring my mind out. The color of beige carpet covered in a spew of my own mess; I tend to clean up the mess or it indulges the words that were trapped. All the sounds of my voice vibrate and ricochet against each wall, creating holes and ruining the paint. It’s as if they take in more of all the shit that keeps me up at night than anyone else. Eventually, I silence myself when the adrenaline running through my veins starts to slow down and colors go to black. My energy runs low, leaving me with the only midnight light hovering in complete darkness—peripherals becoming blurry as everything fades away into the night.