I feel sorry for people who don't drink. when they wake up, that is as good as they are going to feel all day. - Frank Sinatra

This bed I live in

3 nominations

This bed is bloated- still pregnant with the remnants of ideas and ardour which were still born. Somewhere, swaddled in layers of solace, the music is still playing. Don’t touch it. Leave it to be mellowed out under the pillows that melt into your hair- or is it the music which melts? This bed is vast, an island- salvation- yet its breathing is laboured where it has to cough up half burnt out ends, and plasters, bloody, losing their tack, stuck to the same sheets which have been there for months. I’ll get up when I’m ready.

© indievstheworld


You have to be a registered user to be
able to post comments to poetry.

Register Today!

If you already have an account, log in to post a comment.

Please be patient while we go looking for comments...