At night.

At night, the mind goes wandering.

At night, then all goes quiet.

At night, darkness covers the plains and textures.

At night, all untouched and ignored sneaks up to surface.

At night, consolation is the silence, the lullaby for sleep.

At night, silence and darkness sweeps into the depth of the soul twisting each branch, twirling each loose thing and drawing it into its cyclone, leaving behind nothing but a chaotic wasteland.

At night, time stands still for minutes to hours, the moment all interactions with the world stop, the moments where the cyclone left the land of soul.

At night, the secretly-kept deep longings surface making themselves evident as basic needs.

At night, all basic needs that cannot be addressed fuel a rage.

At night, there’s cries and screams, not a single person can hear them. All appears silent, and all motions appear like muted films.

At night, the chaos becomes exhausting. Eventually, when lucky, one falls asleep.

Waking up, you drag to open your eyes, knowing that the next time night sets in, you go through the same torment again.