The white LEDs shine bright
Like the unwanted pseudo-stars they are

The living room that houses the sofa I am lying down on
Has white walls that reflect the bulbs' light
Almost as if they were mirrors

The lights hit my face the way lights hit faces,
In less than a snap of the fingers,
It still feels like it's dark, to be frank

It's the kind of darkness you experience
When a blanket is over your head
While you're camping on a starless, moonless night
With only the tent floor as your sleeping bag

You feel the earth stabbing you in a billion different points
As the cold slowly freezes your fingers into submission
And the darkness you see is the darkness only the ones who have gouged their eyes out can describe
The pitch black of all the pitch black

The lights hit my face now like an oncoming train,
Yet I see darkness emanate out of the bulb like splashing waves on a beach