Midnight taps my shoulder.
A soft click- my sun has left the room.
Darkness outstretches its hand in a shake; the whiteness of these walls is no longer visible.
A moon child melts on my windowsill, behind restless curtains and parents of shadow.
A small trickle- my floor is a network of silver ichor, blessed by her constellatory tears.
A piece of sky illuminates my bed. I can see my hands- they grapple the unknown.
They seek release.
A gentle sob before I succumb to slumber.
I am guided towards my innermost thought. Errancy consumes me; I salivate in anticipation.
I dream of death.

Thunder applauds my soundly performance. 
The rain chuckles. It knows. "Nice try."
I am awakened. I am disturbed. 
My pulse mimics the drums of the world. 
I am still here. I am not ready.

The smell is blinding.
Floral and foreboding.