Mumblings of a scattered mind.
Not the kind you experience on a moonless night
Not the kind you witness under 300 feet of earth.
This isn't the kind of darkness that fades when you strike a match.
This darkness exists in the corners of my mind at 2 in the morning.
I'm tired of being the porridge that's too cold
I'm tired of being the chair that's too tall.
One day I'd like to be laying, waiting for you in our bed.