my mind's combine is in constant stuck, always harvesting over the already harvested plot.

in my bed...there is no solitude, no comfort, or no friend.
my mind keeps me up as a prowler
who is just trying to break-in.
he's out there standing in the yard,
he stares at me through the window,
he steams the pane up with rancid breath,
smashing glass with closed fist.