bed rotting

the bed knows my weight better than i do, every crease in the sheets holds what i’m going through hours pass quiet, the light barely moves, i tell myself “later” like i’ve got something to prove my phone in my hand, but i’m not really there, just scrolling through lives like mine isn’t fair the world keeps spinning outside of this room, while i’m stuck in a pause that feels like a loop i could get up— yeah, i know that i could, but my body feels heavy like it misunderstood so i stay in the silence, in the comfort, the weight, somewhere between needing rest and escape but even in stillness, a thought makes its way— this won’t be forever, not every day and maybe tomorrow i’ll move just a bit, pull back the covers… and not stay in it.