it’s weird to question life
and the plausibility of it all.

no, not the thought of existing
but the existing
itself.

would we regret anything
if we remained simply enveloped in
the deafening linens of conformity?
knowing nothing but the crease marks lining our bodies
there to remind us
of the constrictive safety of warm — popular — demands?

wouldn’t it be easy?
to climb onto a soft mattress
listening to the soft hum of night’s — lulling —  prowl?
wouldn’t it be easy to forget
to ignore
the interrupting sound of our own timid breathing?
the rise and fall of our chests
the repetitive break in the linen’s constant form?

it is only a linen
isn’t it?
thin and pliable.
only meant for our own purposes,
our own warmth.

but yet,
at night we all go searching for our linens
our place of restrictive safety.
hoping
just hoping conformity will keep us warm at night.

eventually it all will
constrict
constrict
constrict
and will we all still be breathing?
or will the linens be too rigid?
pressing against us
rather than the breath of our own —  individual — existences?