Comatose

there are clothes

everywhere.

on my floor,

and i leave them there.

to slowly attain wrinkles,

like the aged.

and soak in the musty smell

of the carpet that is

underneath them.

my quilt is

heavy

from the humid air

and drapes over the bed

that I spend too much time in.

looking at the thin, bright light

that shines in through the gap between

curtain

and

wall.

willing it to close,

so I can fall deeper into slumber

and

further away from

here.