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joi, 5 noiembrie 2020

My lovely bed

 The bed I've made for myself keeps staring at me and I march to lay willingly in it.

Oh the bed that I've made,
I always do this to my being.

Giving my soul away, only for you to beat it,
and how hard you keep hitting,
but still, I keep breathing.

Yes, I'm still living for an on-going beating.

Oh, the bed that I've made,
you swallow me down into your darkness,
while he throws over me his madness
and yet, I find myself covering in them.

The warmth they always bring,
this is what draws me in.

For a while I forget about the feeling of emptiness inside me,
as I lay in the bed that I've made again, and again,
from my continuous sorrows.   

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