A night in Seoul

Time ceases to exist when you are slowly but surely becoming the sole center of your whole existence. Cut out. You wonder if you have limbs at all, if you have a beating heart at all. If you have become a ghost. Ghost breath across the windows.
The neon lights outside are striking dark rainbows across the walls.
You become lost between the stripes of bleeding, fading color.
You meditate in between the seams of your stripped, flaky heart that won’t stop screeching against the walls of your chest and your sloppy, tired body. Your soft bones and softer walls. You have no windows. The color won’t seek in and the bleeding won’t seep out.