883 - Lying to myself

I don’t make my bed, but I lie in it
It’s cosy and warm, a little noisy
My face on the pillow dribbles its spit
The digital clock says it’s half-past three
The night’s half-gone; not lonely, just sleepy
As flakes fall off and float onto the floor
Fresh skin metamorphosed to dust bunny
So painlessly done, I sleep on once more
Dreams undisturbed till I wake, and then for
A few seconds, a flashback to my split
From daytime’s fate to night-time’s fantasy
Where it belongs, a quasi-heavenly bore
Comfortable padded cell to self-restrict
Resisting unpredictability
Tue 3 Feb 2009