It’s 3 am and I’m standing in front of my bathroom’s mirror;
The daunting ticking of the clock marks the inexorable passing of time, youth slowly escaping from my grasp;
Darkened eye bags adorn my face, effigy of the nights spent looking at the ceiling while conversing with those voices in the dark;
Silence is a slow killer, it lulls you into the easing feeling of peace just to open the gates on your temples from which their sharp words slither.
And so you stand, sleepless in front of the mirror, a broken shell that lost his soul.