The tube bursts sounds like voices and revelry of the mundane. My temples ache for pleasant dissociation, and for the cold glow. I crumble; dissipate in an overwhelming. There is sound and there is silence, and I dare not speak to disturb them both. My view from near is dots, dancing hues: a puzzle of light. Television reflections bounce and turn. Laughter pulls my posture forward to a hunch, while my eyes drown in the shadows of a midnight. I'm sure to wake to silence, And the screen does beg to see my nod complete.