my bed is cold
icy cold
I shiver, tremble, hide
beneath dry and draping folds
there is no heart
within this square
frigid
dead
empty
my limbs draw up
to curl around lonely pillows
afraid to stretch
restrained from sleep
shivering
trembling
hiding
dear God
why am I here?
YOU ARE READING
bedtime habits
RandomThis was meant to be a single poem. But there seems to be more coming.
