I can't sleep alone, but your body doesn't feel like home.
I don't need you in this bed, putting thoughts into my head, causing me to hate myself,
and to put You on a higher shelf.
I guess I never quite understood, if you were truly bad or good, but when I'm laying all
alone,
that's when I really seem to know EXACTLY how I'm supposed to feel.

And none of this seems very real.

I never thought that I would sleep
alone,
but these blankets make a safer home
than your arms ever were to me.
Is this how it feels to be free?
'Cause I'm cold and tired and kinda sick and this sheet is itchy and awful thick, but its threads aren't anything quite like your beard that scratched my face at night.

And I don't mind the lumps in the mattress, because at least it's not you leaning in for another sloppy kiss.