I keep my mind trapped in a box on top of my shelf; so much is indulged that I tend to separate myself from it until it’s safe to think again. Although it’s never safe when infinite amount of ideas and thoughts find their ways into my mind, and out of no where i’m stuck thinking about it. Right when the box is closed shut all the voices that echoed were completely silent for the first time—it’s as if they carried weight on their soldiers in which created head aches and writers blocks. I can still hear them shuffling around, even louder when they roamed aimlessly in my mind. Nights seem calmer and easier to feel somnolence against the stripped red pillow cases; a different kind of serenity filled the atmosphere of what use to witness struggles trying to see distant dreams. 

Still the voices trapped away keep me up no matter where they’re placed. Even out of my mind I can’t seem to control them to settle down for once and let me enjoy one night of peace—it’s never like that with them.