These four walls are covered with Polaroids
plastered with music notes
tiny sharp tacks holding up accomplishments
old tickets and receipts that ruffle when my heater is turning
the sound is nothing but soothing
My bed is like a boat, i jump on and pretend to sail away
four posts that hold me up higher than the ground everyone else
stands on, this is my high.
my bed is a place for dreaming for security, my blankets
wrap me up in warmth and protection; I suffer no rejection from them,
something you can’t avoid with lovers.
My pillows like sponges for my tears. They embrace my eyes
when no one else wants to. Their fabric shell covers up smells of
memories and stains from rejected lovers. Each artificial feather holds
dreams and obscure thoughts that are beyond the control of the sleeper.
My bedroom, just four walls
i watch as pictures and music notes and accomplishments
warp into my wall, vanish like nothing was ever accomplished.
My bed pulled by tiny fingers, i watch it slowly meld into the ground
roots reaching for my pillows, im so defeated i have no intentions
of stopping Mother Nature as she takes what was once mine.
My room is empty and nothing is being accomplished.
My phone never rings.