What is my mind?

Like the dripping of water, my mind does not rest. I keep hearing it, far away, in a distant somewhere.

Drip. Drip. Drip. Eternal.

It is loudest at night, as most things are. Amplified and nearer in the darkness, a darkness which has forever been the tireless accentuator of fears, noises, insecurities.

It is in this suffocating, pregnant darkness that I hear the true voice of my mind.

I try to grasp it, to understand, desperate.

But before I know it, I am already asleep.