The night is young, it is just learning to walk on the surface of the dark and there is glitter everywhere. Most of it is on my skin, pale with uncertainty and doubt. It is almost like the night is unfolding me, unwrapping me. I am naked before a night too young to admire the rawness of my body with mere eyes. I am shuffling the profundity of the moment, solemly to preserve and keep it under the eyes made of silver. Time is loading debts upon my being, acrimonious to the infinity that exits within me at this very moment. I feel like I will tumble upon the feet made of glass and make sounds that would awaken the night to a morning with no light at all.