Dull Tastes Worse at Night

Lying in bed,

licking the roof of my

mouth

It’s a dull taste,

not lifeless, not foul,

not sick 

Just dull 

The quiet night

I’ve been waiting for

Not a great time to die,

but it may be a good one

Nobody is right

about anything 

Nobody has really even

come close

Can’t say everyone’s wrong though, 

because that’s not true either

The light's being snuffed,

and there's not much thinking left

to do

I just wish

I remembered 

what this poem 

was going to be about