4.9.12
(no idea what this is really, just wrote it after writing a horrible psychology paper)

I always wake up in circles
The imprint of my motionless
body worn craters between sheets
I never sleep under.

On a nightly basis,
I'm fearful of tucking myself
between basic layers of cotton

swaddled between thin air
and thoughts I don't understand
falling too slowly amidst
scattered mind conversations

In the morning, I'll be confused
by the emotions that lay
in-between the pocket of untouched air

when courage kisses my shoulder blades
i'll leave the abyss that my quilt has created
still fearful of those **** sheets
that have hidden themselves so quietly
beneath the imprint of my body