sometimes I cocoon myself
in pastel memories of
you
with that fuzzy blanket and that stuffed animal
I get wistful

and then reality jolts me
out of reverie
it was never an us thing
it was always a me with you thing
that old blanket provided no comfort
it clung to me
wrapping its frayed corners around my ankles

that cute little stuffed thing was not
a relic of happier times
it was a reminder
of all of the ****** up things in your head
which swirled around the dark
and crept toward me;

strangling me
under that heavy blanket