Poems of the lost

still holding on

slip under the covers of my too small bed
untuck the sheets so my feet can stick out
pull the fluffy blanket up to my chin
try to settle in

but something's wrong, something's not right
maybe if I turn the fan on high
and open my window to hear the sounds of the night
I'll be able to sleep alright

climb back into bed
tiredness blurring my eyes
but something still isn't right

drag my body outta bed
swipe crumbs off the sheets
from the last meal I ate
in a couple of weeks

that's it
I'm going to bed
and nothing can stop me

but something still isn't right
I haven't texted you goodnight

I message you
and it fits in
next to all the other good mornings and good nights of the last
three years
two months
and nine days
of which you haven't even read
and you'll never get the chance to

goodnight