i sleep on a broken bed
the nails and upholstery staples bare themselves between planks of wood
the mattress is no longer a flat surface as it dips where my head lies
the drawers under neath the frame hold miscellaneous stuff that i am too lazy to organize
i wake on a broken bed
i try to climb out as slowly as i can muster
my arms grip the sides and i heave myself out of what i once called a resting area
but now is not even akin to what it once was
unalike its previous state
dismantled and in shambles
i crawl into bed
the springs creak as i breathe in and out
and i sometimes hope it all comes falling down
out from under me
YOU ARE READING
living so far
Poesíathis small poetry series is kinda like a conscious stream of my mind and things happening in my life sometimes i beat myself up a lot but it's fine.
