Bed

Bed

I fear this bed
And its seemingly inviting warmth and comfort
As it holds a callous threat in form of a realization
That it will always remain half empty
That it will only lull me to restless sleep

So with tired eyes I glance upon it
And decide against it, time and time again
I could doze off on the couch or make my bed on the floor
But then I always spot the book by the side of the bed
And it gives me the courage needed to enter my griffin's nest

This book I never open, I only cross my hands on it
And mumble quiet words from my atheist lips
Desperation can manifest itself in many ways
What I do not believe exists can hardly do me any harm
Yet inside the scared boyish man wishes to believe

So you see, my friend - the floor or the couch
Holds no real option for me at all
One has to sleep with their pain, despite the reason and yearning
To be freed from guilt, fear and feelings of inadequacy
And mind you, I would gladly replace the book with what used to have its place