the bed like cotton on my back,

but like a rock to my head-

the smile so daunting to my heart,

but fun in my head.

the feeling of adulthood

          so foreign

                 so real-

yet, so fake and minute in my head.

the game of life played in a bed

but game of love played in my head

comfort found in words unspoken 

words unspoken left me un-broken

in my head i wait and wander 

if these events are worth the ponder 

so i go about my daily tasks

and nobody cares to ask 

about the 13th in february 

left in- - a cinerary - -

still lingering 

like the others he took and thieved

I guess- didn’t get into my head,

But what’s left is the empty, dirty, disheveled Bed.

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