Bed

Why does the dark gentle warmth of bed
give me the only true calm I’ve ever known?
Is it that bed is day’s open and close?
the revelatory jolt of awakening
the blissful surrender to sleep
Is it that bed resembles life’s open and close?
the one true safe space of my mother’s womb
the calm embrace of the grave
Is bed simply a peek into the future
into the blissful emptiness that awaits us all?
Why do I go to bed when
I’m sick of myself?
when I wish to no longer be a person?
Is it simply that bed
asks nothing of me?
Is it simply that bed
is the only thing in life that ever gives freely
without taking?
What is the nature of the overwhelming
pull I feel to that liminal space?
Is it merely human’s innate desire for entropy
that makes me fall headfirst into your covers’ folds
and smash my face upon your downy pillows
and dig my feet into your springy surface
and lay there
completely unmoving
unthinking
unquestioning
until tomorrow’s bittersweet dawn?
Is bed’s appeal merely the swift entropy of falling
or is it what comes after--
the nothing?
Is it that bed would be there for me all day?
if I asked it to
if I needed it
if I felt I had no choice
Or is it simply that I am forced to live this life
awake
cold
clothed
and upright
that bed always seems sweeter than wherever I am?
Is it that bed is the only thing
that forgives me for being human
and lets me pretend I am otherwise?
Whenever I’d rather not exist
my bed is there to grant my wish.