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
again.