Do not fall asleep: closed eyes create an open door that I leak through, leaving your subconscious screaming my name. And the sound will simmer, As the light becomes dimmer— where have I gone? It’s quiet. I’m a whisper. I’m transparent, a transient image in your mind. I’m gone. The darkness of the room envelopes you; your dreams are my coffin, and you’re still blissfully oblivious that my grave has been dug, my coffin has been dropped, and the each fading memory buries me until I’m six feet under. For you, life was tranquil and I was merely a pill that you could have whenever you needed to feel something— anything. But you no longer delve into artificial feelings; your façade has cracked, and there’s no turning back. The lights are out; darkness steals you. Your eyes shut, your breathing slows, the door opens. I’m gone.