a bed is just a bed
until it's not anymore
it's refugee from trouble,
it's home away from home
it's where your tears well
undisturbed in the dark
it's where two people ******
and another two made love,
it's where he turned with pits
for eyes and said, "maybe you should go"
it's where he ran when hope evacuated
his body and his soul
it's where your dreams knit together,
where you ghosts reappear,
where your body recharges
and where your fear stalks near

a bed is permanent, a fixture
in your life
yet this bed is not, could not,
ever be mine

dressed in disguise, wearing
a pad and a topper,
this mattress has felt the bodies
of similarly empty hundreds,
reminding me that this bed is an illusion
much like this life i live,,
the sheets constantly coming untucked
as they reject my existence
still, it accepts me during the night,
offering no tangible resistence
though beds are inanimate objects,
there souls find ways to roam
and in this bed, i am acutely aware
that i no longer have a permanent home