The bed I’ve made for myself
Is not always comfortable
But it fits my soul like a bandage
Wrapped tight in all my wounds
An ever-reminding scar
Of something I’ve yet to explain properly
Just another un-medicated headache
In my dreaming day and fear-filled night
I don’t always like my half-life
But it’s the only life I’ve got
So to bed I go, every night
Wishing I could sleep it off