These rotten sheets,
I curse and twist,
The spring leaps up,
Bites with a hiss.

This breeze block pillow,
I try to karate cut,
But the masonry stings,
The pain pours out.

The duck down duvet,
Nips at my toes,
Squealing black tongues,
As the birds inside rose.

The space below collects dust,
Luring in dead flies,
Their little buzzing legs,
Have become my lullabies