My bed is mine and I am its
For warmth and sleep we share
My skin of wool and polyester
Without it I am bare
I am its beating heart,
and it's my skin and bones
Then morning comes, cruelly,
with light and brighter tones
I am ripped out of my steaming body
After peeling skin, to be left rotting
I walk the streets, shivering,
a heart without protection
Bleeding warmth, bleeding blood,
defenceless against infection
Make me wish for colder days
Where silence climbs my back
Where I won't move for weeks, at all
Where it all seems to fall flat
Every word I dare to speak
Is a breath that leaves me colder
That creeping sense of dread and shame
Lassitude growing bolder
Here, beneath wool and cotton
Polyester, and linen shields
I will sleep throughout the winter
Fortress sturdy, safe and sealed
YOU ARE READING
Thickets
PoetryI need a place for poems and poem-like things now that I've made a habit out of expressing myself through poetry
