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