Burrowing Deeper

Time passed,

the sun completed laps

while I struggled to move

curtains drawn

bottles emptied

greasy skin glued to warm

cotton,

a cozy coffin,

a comfortable death.

The loop disorienting,

never sure what day it is,

a foul taste in the mouth

the sound of jangling keys, nearing,

the distance closing in but still

unobtainable,

untouchable,

cold.

Colder sweats, still,

forming and shifting

exploring this unmoving body,

the only limp suggestion

of life.

The blinds like prison bars,

curtains before them set like cement,

a dividing wall,

the weight of the duvet

crippling,

the weight of a new day

crushing.

The TV’s nineteen hour shift begins again,

its humming ritual,

the signal scrambled

words garbled

faces distorted.

Time cracks

and splits in two,

and still, I don’t move

other than

to burrow deeper

or check my skin

for signs of

mould.