Not All There

It's a dark night, one where the lamp is surrounded by black,
I can find a couple of good excuses to complain about,
ways to relieve my dissatisfaction onto another shoulders.

And all I seem to feel is this warmth which makes me so isolated,
a stagnant air, cozy,
I begin to long for something sharp,
definite, an icicle, or cold steel.
A pin prick to be sure I'm all there.