My Bed the Sanctuary
To an endless and reproachable space in existence.
Where life has all but stilled.
Each stride I ultimately take endeavours me to sink deeper into the void.
My mere touch blackens and burns every object within its grasp,
Like a deadly infection that cannot be destroyed.
Days spent wishing that happiness was no longer a dream,
That it was something tangible, like a blanket I could wrap myself deep within.
Praying that if all else fails,
This duvet I seclude myself in may be my salvation.
That it may bring me some kind of absolution.
If it was not for the solitude the custom sun brings.
The unsavoury darkness would have me cringe.
I constantly fight this affliction of time.
Hoping that soon I can finally unwind.
My covers are my sanctuary from the burdens of the world,
From the perpetual hate that embodies the spoken word.
It’s somewhere to hide and protect me from my fears,
As no one can here the faint sobbing of my tears.
I reach out,
With a desperate voice, only to be responded with hush.
To a hand that I cannot see nor touch,
All I want is someone to guide me, is that asking so much.
The void is so vast and encroached with emptiness,
The suffocating of such is often relentless.
I’ll stay here, in the comfort of my bed,
Where these walls help conceal the futures impending dread.
© 2012 Alana Bembridge