It is too heavy.Not the covers or the weighted pillows, but the reasons why i’m not needed to walk.The sheets are bolted cuffs clasping tight and hard leaving bruises and hiding scars.The room is dark hiding me from any unwanted eyes who are just trying to pass by.To hide the mess I have made in my mind so no one can pull me from these chains of cotton and silk.It is not a uncomfortable weight ,but an awkward loneliness that one side is empty and cold while my side is burning and overused. So used it concaves on itself, but I am never claustrophobic instead accepting of what couldn’t be another disappointment to my maids of chaos.Who attempt to make me clean and polish only create more wrinkles that represent a battlefield of the mind.I’m not narcissistic,but trapped in an a ongoing war.Barricaded myself in the covers that I hoped would shield me have only taken me as prisoner.I can not remember the last time these sheets have been washed or my mind ,but I know it holds a chemical air that flows through the field.I’m not choking ,but I can watch those trapped in the crevices of the sheets dying off. Is this lunacy or my mind trapped in this bed just suffocating in what now has become my death bed.