Dark Meanderings

Times like this,

late at night when the noise around ceases into a deafening silence,

and one can hear the beating of one's heart in one's ear-drums.

It's so quiet it's disconcerting;

it's so peaceful I'm not used to it at all.

It takes me a little while to get accustomed to it.

The heart calms down to a steady rhythm.

My breathing slows down as well, my tensed muscles relaxes.

My tightly wounded-up mind starts to relax.

And the emotions that have been squashed up tight into a little ball is released,

and starts to expand,

until it becomes bigger than me, and submerges me.

And I just let it carry me wherever it wants to take me.

Mostly, it's a dark lonely place, where there is nothing, no one and nowhere to go.

This is quite crap. But I don't care. No it's not suppose to be a poem. And no I don't know what this is suppose to be. It has No Name.