Cozy

Eyes fail under the sun,
they've adjusted to the night,
and I'm eating at the darkness
because I hate my own light.
I'm wearing myself down
though my spirit wants to roam;
these walls I built around myself
were never meant to be a home.

Sight is another spectrum
that I don't understand,
the wrong sensory input..
like tasting with my hands.
And this prison that was safe
is where I'm most alone
and the walls I've built around myself
is the place I call home.