Whatever you do,
don't bring a black light.
The smell of booze and cigarettes
stuck in-between the sheets,
stained by spills and ash,
is a haunting lonliness.
This bed is never made,
never shared,
it's a bare existence
only offering the stench of sheets
that haven't seen a cycle since
I laid them on this bed-
the only thing ever laid on this bed
besides the comforter, an Ironic
name for a blanket,
if you aren't sharing it.
This is the place I am most vulnerable.
I know it isn't much,
but as dismal as it is
this is where I dream up poetry,
the place I long to be every night,
and if you should choose to stay...
I'll make this bed
a home for us,
I'll burn these sticky sheets.
I will banish all the beer cans,
and scorn all the cigarettes.
I will finally find comfort
In the warmth of this blanket,
and my willingness to share it
along with my most vulnerable
emotions, thoughts, and dreams
every night if you choose to stay,
but until then I'll keep dreaming poetry,
so whatever you do,
don't bring a black light.
YOU ARE READING
Thresheld
PoetryMy life is a series of thresholds that I overcome through poetry. Love, loss, pain, regret, humor, irony, word play, and even sarcasm are as much apart of my life as they are central to my poems here. I am Thresheld. UPDATE: It's been quite a few ye...
