it happens easily
at midnight
when the bed stretches on for miles
and I’m the only one inside it
a pillow between my knees
another balled together under my right ear
my toes curled up like elf shoes
one arm wrapped protectively around my abdomen
the other under head extended to its fullest, reaching
the ache of the world rests in my spine, my hips
and my eyes are opened to darkness
they show there, when I’m at my most vulnerable
when even sound is distant
they climb over the corners of the bed, burrow through the sheets
they scratch at my surfaces
they cover me, they bury me
the demons
breath soft, in whispers, no fire and no thorns
they carry messages of
“he said he loved you but he hurt you”
and
“they all end in the same place”
and
“dig, keep digging, it’s bottomless”
and
“this is it, all there is, this darkness, this room, this you”
I stay there
for a moment, for forever
because it feels familiar
the doubt, the pain, the angst
after all
I dwelt in it for so long
it’s warm on my skin and cold in my heart
the demons become one with the sheet that covers my naked form
the whispers grow and stay and settle
and then the demons fall like leaves, gently, floating
off
and out
and down
and away
and then it is me again
alone in the expanse of the bed
still protected, still reaching, still curled,
still weight-bearing, still silent
my eyes can close now
and the sun soon rises