BED

There are crumbs on my bed.

Laid waste from the last binge.

They poke me as I shift myself

But I brush them to the ground.

I haven’t gotten up in days,

Haven’t left the room in weeks

Haven’t left the house in months

This is my life now, apparently.

“Get up already and do something.”

Comes a voice outside my room

I ignore it, as I usually do.

The voice will go away eventually.

The days have begun to blend.

The nights aren’t even here

I don’t know the month

Or even the year I’m in.

All I do is waste my life

And all potential I could have had

I should have been doing something

But that’s all in the past now

I try to get up to no avail

The fleeting motivation has passed

I am once again consumed by my bed

And I keep sinking further in.

My bed is ready, and it is time to rest

This is my world now, my tiny room

It shelters me from what’s outside

And has locked me in from all harm.

I am safe here I convince myself

With that knowledge, I close my eyes.

Life may pass me by outside

But within my bed, I’m safe inside.

— Nikhil James