Dissociating

When my mind drifts to the night prior, I am reminded of my bleak, white ceiling.

 Kissed by dollar store glow-in-the-dark stars from a time when outer space seemed within my reach,

 it once held the aura of ambition. 

A secret passage, 

to the allure of this life, of my future. 

My body lay cold beneath it, just cold enough to warrant the occasional shiver,

yet not cold enough to persuade my broken mind to rest.

Times have changed. 

Or perhaps I have simply embraced realism, as one must when on the cusp of adulthood. 

Beside my head, the weight of an agenda book exhausted by blue ink reminds me of my indolence. 

At my feet, the whirring fan within a dinosaur of a laptop hisses at me.

Apply Now! 

The harsh red letters on the screen have already burned their way into my corneas,

  assuring a night full of consciousness.

I glance back at my stars,

at my prosperity. 

I am greeted by a stark, white coat of paint hiding just behind them.

Suffocation.