I don’t like my bed
blankets and pillows
a glass on the bedside table
do I wish it was stronger?
perhaps I want the contents
of said glass
to taste like wine

sleep is distant
although I’m tired
I can never catch some rest
my bed is not a sacred place
for it is tainted with
imaginations
speculations

I imagine a day
where you show up at my
front door
paint me into corners
play me like a game of chess
you will always win

I don’t like my bed
for all it reminds me of is
my filthy conscience