#beds
My shell,
that posture sprung defender,
protects me well against the tide of night,
a bastion, to fight the cold of shrinking light
am I then the pearl, perhaps I am the meat,
I know not which,
but when I lie within my oyster bed
to twitch and snore within my rumpled dreaming head
I am complete, secure, as much as one can ever be
afloat and sailing on that dark mysterious sea,
and if that rude and uncouth youth we call a clock
should clap its chapped and chattering hands,
to bring me all befuddled into land
then let me wake and take a moment’s breath
before I stagger up the beach
and out across today’s wet sand
Oct 19, 2025
Oct 19, 2025 at 10:20 AM UTC
It was hard waking up
today; I rolled over to the swirls
in my coffee - the swirls in my head -
I couldn’t - can’t - think straight; the world
was a blur and I was in the midst of those terrible, awful,
beautiful swirls.
I hate it,
when I feel this way - so slow, so tired -
a Puppet.
I suppose,
if nothing else - that is why these sheets
comfort me so; I am alone with my thoughts
- for better or worse -
as time guides my fragile hands to crease
and curl
what covers me whole;
I am learning to make my bed
so I can learn
to make myself.
Aug 29, 2021
Aug 29, 2021 at 11:35 AM UTC
bed's calls ...
night start ...
the bed ...
got bore ...
alone ...
empty ...
with no warm ...
so cool ...
waiting for us ...
to feel warm ...
form bodies ...
adorable ...
knows how ...
to give the hot ...
creative ...
to make the bed warm ...
the bed calling us ...
calls our love ...
to start ...
making...
the love ...
that it make ...
bed warm ...
and to enjoy ...
it loneliness ...
while we share ...
that lonely bed ...
let's answer the bed calls ...
let's share our love ...
to give the warm ...
to that sweet bed ...
by our love that we do ...
hazem al ...
Aug 18, 2021
Aug 18, 2021 at 12:22 PM UTC
You set my heart up on a shelf
Way too high for me to reach
So I can't take it down myself
Therefore you I must beseech
Heard the thoughts you left unsaid
Swear I can almost read your mind
Expression betrays what's in your head
To not read your face have to be blind
Coming to a reluctant acceptance
On the cold side of your shoulder
That I must live without your presence
To accompany me as I grow older
Hooking up with someone new
Doesn't really help at all
Because I compare everyone to you
Making it impossible to fall
Rusted trust is decomposing
Like cars in forgotten junkyards
Pits in my soul created by eroding
Leave my insides hollowed and scarred
If I only I could stop the sorrow
Cover ears but it still trickles in
Wish there was laughter I could borrow
To drown out echoes of your voice within
I try to track down explanations
For why things suddenly went wrong
Hindsight still sees no indications
Pointing to you saying "so long"
One moment we held each other tight
The next we were pulling apart
We swiftly went from kissing goodnight
To seperate beds and broken hearts
May 15, 2021
May 15, 2021 at 9:23 PM UTC
it's 2:56am, and I'm lying next to a stranger.
when the sun rises, I'll already be gone.
I'll have already climbed out of his bed,
found my clothes, tiptoed
to the front door, and vanished.
the house will be left exactly as it was.
his car will still be parked in the driveway.
the curtains will still be drawn.
the withering houseplant in his kitchen
will remain unwatered.
everything will be left untouched.
when I leave, it will appear
as if I had never been there at all.
but I was.
two weeks from now,
he won't remember my name.
he won't remember anything
besides the feeling of skin on skin,
of a warm body pressed up against his.
in his mind, I will have been
nothing more than another body.
I always imagined that going home
with a complete stranger would feel wrong,
would be terrifying, that not knowing
who is next to me when I am falling asleep
would be scary.
a few months ago, it was 2:56am
and I was lying next to a stranger.
this time, he wasn't a complete stranger.
this was not my first night with him,
far from it. I knew him. he knew me.
I wasn't gone when the sun rose
in the morning. the house was left
exactly as it was the night before.
the only difference was that this time,
I was still there.
two weeks after that night,
he would remember my name.
he would remember my laugh,
my freckles, my eyes
my voice when I was tired,
how I talked too fast
whenever I was excited,
the way that I looked at him
when I was in love.
and I would remember all
of those little things about him,
the same way he would remember
all of those little things about me.
I always imagined that sleeping next
to someone who I loved would feel safe,
would be comforting, that knowing the
person next to me when I am falling asleep
would be wonderful.
for the most part, my imagination
wasn't incorrect. I was right when I pictured
how incredible sleeping next to
someone who I loved would feel.
I was right when I pictured how frightening
sleeping next to someone
who I didn't know would feel.
I was right about most of it.
but I was wrong about one thing.
while lying in a bed at 2:56am,
I realized that the memory
of sleeping with a complete stranger
hurt far less than the memory
of sleeping with someone
who I once thought I knew.
Nov 9, 2020
Nov 9, 2020 at 10:26 AM UTC
The air tainted
With the scent of lavender
Walls painted with mud
On her back
She looked down from above
His unshaved skin tickles her thighs
She sighs
Word unspoken
Give a clear directive
Untamed
she became
while he ravished her
Satisfaction she over-came
all over the furniture
Jun 17, 2020
Jun 17, 2020 at 12:04 AM UTC
I am salivating
over your curves
The way they bend in all the right ways
It makes me so stiff
I wish, I could just slide my hands all over her
Listen to you exhale as we go skin to skin
tasting the taste of your tongue
After your delicious lips let me in
our mouth enveloping each other
with so much anticipation
we quiver as the nerves subside
as the moment sets in
Jun 16, 2020
Jun 16, 2020 at 11:53 PM UTC
spikes and chains
i enjoy the pain
frilly lace
and satin space
you’ve got quite a pretty face
especially when it twists into a scowl
when you put me in my place
Dec 18, 2019
Dec 18, 2019 at 9:17 AM UTC
I just went to bed
left you on Read
I did it on purpose to mess with your head
Laid in gossamer sheets
tinged sickly red
with the blood of words
that went unsaid
hard to deny
who made the bed
who caught whom
in whose spinnerets
Distraught with rotting thoughts
locked in my own stocks
stalking twisted halls
the clocks have all stopped
Stuck in my head
kicking myself
with broken knees
and buckled legs
struggling to free myself
from myself
Entombed by one I never could deceive
darkness abounding when all that I need
is to catch the right light
and stop trying to fight
Oh, what a tangled web we weave
May 9, 2019
May 9, 2019 at 12:02 AM UTC
i imagine you lying
alone
in that too-small bed
with your blankets
(that i hate)
strewn across the floor
warmed by the thought
that you are loved
while i lie
alone
in my too-big bed
covered in blankets
(that you’ve never seen)
freezing
because i am not
Jan 19, 2018
Jan 19, 2018 at 4:21 AM UTC
Bumble
How do you decide what to take from a burning building? Objects? A ring? A Journal? Your father? Your daughter? Your grandmother? Your birth certificate? How does a child decide who lives and who stays? One day there’s a fire, and it’s your house, it starts in your room, you can tell yourself you’ve already packed a bag, but who can say where it is?
Since I was fourteen *** has let me feel like I was alive, I always thought that great *** meant somebody cried, that somebody got hurt, that if you weren’t hiding from somebody else than you had to be hiding from yourselves. That’s when I pulled out an old notebook and began reading back the lips of lovers, running my fingers over their handwriting like brushing my mouth over the raised ink of my lover’s tattoos. Who decides when everything you call your life uproots itself and walks away from you one morning while you’re still laying in bed? Who decides when every rule and mannerism you’ve become acclimated to shifts and changes and the way you felt anger is now the way you feel fright, the way you felt lust is now what you call sadness, the way you lived in happiness is now what you know to be all on your own, and what you told yourself was love is now nothing at all.
There is a bed with the sheets nearly hanging off, the blankets lying on the floor, three pillows colors you’ve never seen. This bed is in a room you’ve never walked into, in a house you’ve passed a million times, in towns you’ve visited but only to top off your gas tank or looked at while riding through it on a train. It’s in this room, on this bed where your whole life is unbound, it’s here where the cover on the book of your life falls off and disappears into a story of someone else’s, and while you still bite your dedication page as your own, the publisher’s page, the dedication page, and even the title page are all altogether gone, and no matter how old you are or how quickly you move, nor how attentive or well prepared you might be, there is nothing you can do except curl yourself into an ammonite and lock up everything you’ve ever claimed to be yours, light your candles and cigarettes, and put a record on the record player. There is no place like home that couldn’t become yours anymore.
You drink hard liquor from the bottle until you can touch the faces that you’ve lost, you can turn the hot water up in the shower until you don’t hear their voices anymore. There’s nothing like the sound of quiet that peels off the skin, or the sound of loud music blaring into your ears that you can play if you need to hold it back in.
You can **** the war and hate and heartache out of the brains and legs and holes of someone you barely know, but in a burst of snowy sunlight you’re only adding numbers to a score that heeds no winners at all. There’s no one that never shivers, no one that has never gotten splinters, there’s no one who is never been sick, there’s only the one’s who know what life is, and the one’s that lie about it. Only when you’ve lost your head can you see with your ears. I’ve found faces in my underwear that run fierce with rivers of tears. This is the waste that makes waste, this is the nerves that end nerves. This is the patch I placed on the moon, and the cold that stings every part of the body I know.
There is a bed somewhere, there is a town of people waiting to **** the person who lives in that room. There is the fire that consumes the bed, there is a child waiting there that’ll someday have to choose.
Jan 5, 2018
Jan 5, 2018 at 4:30 AM UTC
Revenge itches, where love never reaches,
It itches in the shared cups,
in the shared beds
in the shared bodies,
But never, in the shared hearts,
For these days, they are not shared
All love is today,
Is a folkdance in a folkworld,
With folks one will never truly love,
But pretend to be loving, Living
How lively!
The roads, the parks, the brothels,
All flood with bodies, not souls
For the vessels are empty,
staring at each other's empty faces,
Prizing empty words to one another,
And mocking anybody different,
How lively!
And in such fragrance too,
Some bear to protest,
The lively call them dead,
In which case, dying is more beautiful
Nov 25, 2017
Nov 25, 2017 at 4:15 AM UTC
There's one less set of footprints
upon my bedroom floor,
there's half as many clothes
behind the closet door.
There's a lonely set of arms
that used to embrace its pair,
there's one less person here
but one more vacant chair.
There's a heart that was once overflowing
and bursting from the soul,
but it seems that just a half
can claim the very whole.
Somethings can be mended,
but never replaced by another.
In empty beds we learn
how to live without each other.
Jul 22, 2017
Jul 22, 2017 at 9:15 PM UTC
gyrating hips
and blood red lips
****** thoughts
drift across,
seeping into the silk sheets
beneath her heat.
fire set alight
at the sight
of the small porcelain frame
draped in the skin of an angel
with the devil singing her name.
“nothing is good anymore
this i am sure”
she says,
counting petals that fall to the floor.
mischievous grin
locked on lips of sin,
and she can’t help the need
to bound forth and see,
naked glass
shattered from the days of past
with sand spilling pages
into unknown cages
opening eyes
to all the cherry red lies.
blood flowing over head and underneath
the infidelity that lives in his sheets,
lost kisses and broken hearts
left to be made into art.
Jul 12, 2017
Jul 12, 2017 at 7:02 PM UTC
A chilling nothing.
Turn to where you used to be-
Empty bed and heart.
Oct 23, 2015
Oct 23, 2015 at 11:11 AM UTC
three woke this morning
to empty beds
empty sails
and empty days
one woke with certainty
one woke in turmoil
and one woke with tortured hope
...and that may make all the difference.
Jun 25, 2015
Jun 25, 2015 at 1:14 AM UTC
I don't want to leave you, she said
If I could, I'd stay forever but I can't
I wonder what's your reason
to commit such an act of treason
During the night
When the stars shine so bright
I love seeing your sleeping face
You're like a delicate antique vase
Why must your time with me have a limit?
Cause when the morning comes, he wakes you up in just a minute.
I try to make you stay
But you'll just say
If I don't go, there's going to be a huge price to pay.
But who am I to question
even though I feel so much depression
For I'm just a futon
for you to lie on
Apr 10, 2015
Apr 10, 2015 at 9:06 AM UTC
White cotton kisses
I pretend you occupy the space of this pillow
I remember your navy sheets
I think they kindly absorbed the blood
it was there, somewhere.
beating or gliding within walls of muscle.
This type of loving has become liquid and electrical.
It is certainly electrical.
spiky pains edging fingertips
Strands of copper threaded into the grooves of your fingerprints
It has a real colour. I don't know what that is.
It's weight fits inside your body.
It is manufactured.
Maybe the ***** triggered it.
Or the serotonin shots when I see your face.
All I have with me now is bone dry fabric and wadding
Jul 20, 2014
Jul 20, 2014 at 3:47 PM UTC