Songs at 3 a.m.

Content Warnings: identity troubles, hysteria

It is three a.m.
Silence is like dense soup hanging in the air. All the people are already asleep, seeing either their dreams or nothing. And only I seem to be awake at this hour. I sigh as my hands raise the headphones and lower it upon my head like a noose. The "classics", or at least that's what I call those songs.
It starts angry and determined. Rhythmically my body raises itself from my bed and starts stomping and moving convulsing to the sounds. And yet, there is a caution in those movements, because everyone else is asleep. Is it a kind of altruism coming from my organism, or is it just the fear of being seen like this, of being influenced?  It doesn't matter now. I just dance because I dance. I feel so free the frequencies building wings I haven't known I could ever have had.
The oxygen leaves my lungs. My lips are moving fast, my voice being unaffected. The only thing that matters is to sing and not to stop singing. A silent prayer, for if I stop, the wings will melt, and I will fall. I will fall! Please, SOMEBODY, kill the sun so I won't fall, ever.
My eye ducts release tears, watering my wings. And they in response get heavier, pulling me down towards the sun that sinks in the horizon. The heat is burning my skin, but I won't give in. My lungs won't burn, since they are oxygen empty. But where do tears come from? The lyrics don't resonate with my brain. Is it even my crying? If it's not me, then where am I? Where WAS I ALL THE TIME? Do I even exist? Whose body am I wearing, whose life am I living?
I am scared? I am not even sure it's me being scared... What if I am nothing, not even an organism? A void.
I scream because if I scream, then maybe someone, maybe a god will hear me. Maybe I will start existing then. I yell the words of the song on the top of my lungs and the fire around me burns even stronger, burning down my skin. I AM DYING! SOMEONE HELP ME! PLEASE! I PROMISE, I'll be a better person. I will stop stealing people's lives, I will stop stealing their character, but please, save what is left of the body. Or better, burn it all down so that maybe hell will be painless. What with the soul, it won't participate! It is impossible to burn down a lie. But I will still hope that I can be burned and that I will. This feels ineffably ill.
And as the song tells my ears the last words, I leave out a last breath before I crash down on the core of the sun, this leaving nothing behind afterwards. 

The next night, this cycle repeats.