My day ends at five in the afternoon. Somedays it feels like the world will skid off its axis or the horizon will melt like goo off a popsicle stick. But it never does. Maybe I end at five o'clock but the world just keeps turning, the light fades to darkness, but without the sun to vanquish my shadows they just overtake me. So after five, I have this overwhelming urge to shut myself up in a dark room and shut out the world. I pretend it stopped with me. But the next morning the sun rises and I regret all that I’ve done. Now I’m more behind than before and I wish I headed my mother’s shouts, or shrugged off the overwhelming sorrow. But the dark I once found horrifying has become a welcome cover, this blanket of night keeps me from seeing the mistakes, from acknowledging how much everything matters. In here, in my pitch black cocoon I can pretend to be a blooming butterfly, though we all know I'm a rock .