Gravity’s Fault

A lazy sleeper’s woe

Blackhole

long do the nights pass
in stillness like none other,
with no alternative but to sleep,
the will to wake up, a bother.

unable to feel your arms,
unable to feel your legs,
unable to feel awake,
a prison for the weak-hearted.

a super-massive blackhole
right at home
denying the right to get out,
Even locking one’s bones.

it’s gravity’s fault
for being more potent
than a poison dart frog,
localized around the bed.

feelings of inertia creep in,
fingers feeling like lead,
eyelids calling you back,
to the world of the dead.

is the mattress where I live?
Will I die there?
I can’t think, as I struggle to awaken,
without means to blame.

sloth has consumed the mattress,
and is consuming the user.
and it’s gravity’s fault,
I’ve no choice, but again to slumber.