I resent the night  
It reminds me of things I regret
Of things that I wish to forget

I despise the moon 
It shines with truth
The kind I do not want to hear

I detest the dark 
It whispers words of hate
Poisoning me from the core

Most of all, I hate myself 
The night is beautiful
But my demons paint it
In colors of abhorrence
And I let them

Fun.

The night was at its peak, and the air was weighed down with humidity. The fan was going mad as it blew warm air to the already hot room. My breath, though constant, was irregular. It was out of rhythm, and I found myself paying more attention to the rising and falling of the chest. I wiped a sheen of sweat off my face, and as an involuntary response, I let out a low groan. My skin was moist and I could feel the sheets cling to me like the ghost of my regrets. I was wrapped in warmth, but what I wanted was to be released. I wanted to give my body what it wants. What it needs. I needed the darkness to be enough for me, but sleep won’t come until the heat dies out. If only it would.