Bed is soft
but it’s not that it’s soft
I’m not sure what it is
Why is it the ultimate in safety?
Because we close our eyes and entrust our meat suits
night after night?
i\If we can sleep
it must be safe.
But we also have nightmares
huddled in bed
cuddled in the blankets,
at fears made manifest;
the subconscious untangling its darkness
and reigning upon the imagination.
Everything good and inventive
Nightmares can be worse than living –
though the pains of living plague us
they don’t leave us covered in sweat on an average day.
Despite this fear
beds are safe.
Outside is open.
Outside is unpredictable.
Outside is unsafe.
Is anywhere really safe?
How do I not live in fear?
How do I self preserve,
curling into a foetal ball
head tucked, trembling
afraid to move.
Impossible to eat
Trying is hard. Failure is hard.
Misdirection. Unfulfilled intentions.
There is no path
no lamps to light the way.
Just shrouded shrub and
screaming that I’m not good enough
not loud enough.
I forget everyone’s expectations and live my own
their expectations snuck in
burrowed into my subconscious
controlling me like a puppet master
every time I try to cut the strings
Back in bed.
peeking out from the blankets
wondering if I dare escape,
yet what waits for me out there?
There are some friends. Friends are good. Not all is despair.
Still, I don’t know that I can conquer.
Maybe these words will give me purpose
maybe I can write my way to a fulfilling life
because who needs normal –
what if they don’t, and I cower again
Who gave fear the power? Who gave fear the right?
I fight it. Sometimes I lose. I hide.
Sometimes I win. I sweat. I shake. But I go outside.
I have no ending to this. The future, of everything, is unclear.
Some days I hide.
Some days I write.
Some days its time for the fear to hide.
Sometimes, I get a glimpse of alright.