Whispering wisps of wind fall from my longing lungs as the pressure pushing against my caving chest artistically accelerates. The banished thoughts of my manic mind escape porously through the bone-built walls that fence the heart of my thoughts. My eyes dry out and attempt to glance one last time at the final touch triggering one concluding string of syllables. They pour from my mouth with the legs of spiders, covering my blank body. Each limb sticks to skin in an awarding attempt to revive the closing consciousness. Every bite, a shock; every shock, a flash of flaming light. Color begins going grey and the electric current of blood slows as the feelings in fingertips numb. Grey fades to black and black fades to a cycle - a cycle derived of circadian pulses that bring about a dream. When waking from the beating patterns, everything is reversed. The world is then again inhaled and hues saturate the surrounding walls of the resting room. To sleep is but a kiss from life - a warm embrace to calm one’s abounding anxiety.