curled in the corner
of your queen sized
mattress

sharing a bed with my conscience
is no easy task.
she always talks in her sleep,
her feet are ice cold,
and she always hogs the covers.
I'm never left enough room
to breathe.

And the paisley pattern on your sheets
only keeps her awake
into the hours
when the ice wakes up;
Stretching its lazy, crystal bones
over the front lawn;
chilling the roof tiles
with a yawn.

curled in the corner
of your queen sized
mattress.
and my conscience,
she's stirring.