Like a prisoner of the past.
Unable to let go.
We like the things that are certain.
It´s easy for us to think,
that nothing can ever be good again.
Because we despise change.
We fool ourselves
to think that everything that we´re used to,
is good for us.
We chain ourselves to the invisible bed
that whispers in all the right tunes.
Tunes that we think we want to hear.
We don´t know better than to listen,
to the safe whispers of the only things
we know are certain.
Why do we listen to the whispers?
Telling us to come closer.
As we trust, in the masked whispers,
we get bitten.
And we bleed.
Yet, we stitch our wounds,
as we lay in the bed,
that we think we deserve to sleep in.