crying into your bed
gripped sheets, bitter is the taste of defeats
a fist mark in the mattress
beneath the wings of your pillow
day's tears all over your blanket
(the one we used to hide under)
(and it was safe)

there, a picture burns in my mind, a picture of you sinking into a memory foam mattress that just won't‪ Forget
just won’t
relent

when you throw your breath into the pillow. you are face down, eyes closed, tears falling. the bed is looking at you like there is no comfort for it to introduce you to
it is helpless.

my bed is safety, my bed is refuge.

your bed is a war zone, your bed is a construction zone, your bed is a witness to the crime of your pain

when I found you my heart sunk to my feet. I remember my gut pushing me to your bed and I remember touching the tear stained sheets thinking I was not meant for this, thinking I was not built for this. I remember breathing and breathing and breathing and never feeling like it made a difference at all. being by you felt like the death I didn’t know how to tell no. so i stayed, contemplated a bunk bed, contemplated a queen size bed.
I learned the hard way
I cannot make anyone else's bed
I cannot be the one to lie in it.