I don’t feel terrible

Not as terrible as I know

it can be

But I keep returning to my bed

legs slipping back under

pleasantly rumpled sheets

like my feet don’t know

a path that doesn’t

lead back to warm, soft

shadow, comfort

denial, a cocoon from which

I never emerge

I keep finding myself there only

minutes after I leave only

mildly surprised–oh

well, I guess here I am