Munching on shards of peace is destructive tho it is all under the cap of 'normal'.
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My bed does grow arms at night.
Though, not to cradle me lovingly not to rub my back when I stop breathing not to hold my hand which trembles not to lose its fingers in my hair not to kiss on my forehead and never to string a chain of "it's okay"s from lost breaths into my ears.
My feet are locked and hands are frozen, hair is pulled and throat is choked, my back gets stuck and the air gets thinned my fingers are pricked - sensations stop midway and my palms can't move.
Yet, my bed does hold me. My bed does hold me in my nightmares. My bed does hold me whenever I have a nightmare.
And that's why, I go to sleep. Every single night. Without fail.
