Recently my bed has been a cage
quite literally — the single iron rectangle
pushed up against the wall, cornered
so that only one side faces the outside
and whenever I look up,
the bottom of my roommate's bed
makes me startle (we're bunking).
It's a disconcerting feeling
at night when everyone's asleep
and I try to sneak in quietly,
feeling the tangles of the sheets
distastefully, and silently sighing
when the middle of the pillow, once again,
feels hollow. Maybe it's having to get out again,
reaching to fix my sheets, fluff up my pillow,
brush the fallen hairs off the mattress;
maybe it's the glow of my phone,
white, unending, shallow;
maybe it's the impulse to stay awake,
staring at nothing, submerged in shadows,
so as to prolong the night for another hour,
knowing it won't work
as the cold clock on my desk ticks away.
Tomorrow I'll wake, late again,
rushing, cursing at myself while yearning
for the sleep which comes and goes in seconds,
yearning to sleep myself into oblivion,
yearning for that bed,
that prison,
once again.

☾

this is literally how i feel rn. have never been less organized in my academic career. i must've been late to class more times in the past month than i've been in the last 2 years combined :')

(edit: this was written 11/2019 and idek why i didn't publish it?? so here ya go.)