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You live in the bed
You sleep in
“I dream of going back”
There was a time
To return into
The source of things
Maybe it was before death
“You only read poets who are dead”
There is no wisdom
And life decays
A red body swirling
In the midst
There is a scent
Lost in the stench of placenta
Maybe if I gurgle the bitter water
It floats above my throat
If there was only compassion to fold these sheets
It would be easy to make that bed
Tossing and turning
The chaos presented between sleep and waking
I love being around entities that perpetuate my unworthiness
And I’ve made that bed
And I’ll sleep in peace
If you let me be
© A.R. Minhas 2016
