Have you heard their story?
Pheromones left on Egyptian cotton,
A day’s toll, emptied,
Sponges for sorrow
There’s nothing they can’t absorb,
And they wait patiently for you,
The next night, ready for more.
Maybe that’s why I don’t sleep on a bed,
I don’t want to smell myself,
I don’t want to let go of all my days work,
I don’t want to drain myself of pain,
I revel there.
For years, I sleep anywhere but my bed,
Chairs, floor, a couch, anything that induces discomfort.
I don’t like sleep, so when I do, it is only when the body overtakes me and commands it.
Today I slept for a few hours only, on a bed.
I didn’t smell myself on there,
Nor did I hear any of my stories,
It was just a bed.
Maybe I need to wash my sheets every day!
I can’t stand the image of me and all it represents,
The bed is too familiar,
Too much of an escape,
Why on earth would I want to escape to familiarity?