Too Much, Too Many

I can feel my blood pressure increasing.
Rapidly, uncontrollably, beating within my chest.
The odour of chrysanthemums latches itself onto the air, cantering through my window screen.
Bored to death.
This device is blinking, waiting patiently for greatness to seethe and seep through and from.
Music is too much.
Turn it off.
Turn everything off.
My cerebral cortex is breaking under the immense idea of nothingness.
My body wants sleep, but nausea floods when I close my eyes.
I've tainted everything soft and childlike with the faint sent of carcinogens.
I'm confronted with the notion of air.
When breathing is hard, you're doing it wrong.