POEM 4: By the Bed

My bed, once my haven, barely feels like the window of my repose

Rather, a velvety dump of tears, wrinkles, and prickling needles

An archipelago of spit stains on pillows and mattresses

Where every book you explore turns its dog-eared pages on you

And every sigh of relief reminds you of a livid tomorrow

Every message you read is a tremor's epicenter

Every prayer of hope cries an epitome of desperation

Every scroll on the phone screen is a mindless duel uncalled for

While pressing my back to the bedsheets it barely touches

The blinding lights still permeate the dew around my eyes

And the soft bed still reeks of a wannabe's thick skin

Tattooed with words from the past and screams from within

But like the bulbs glaring at me as I force my eyes shut

I could only wish I could turn this off

Written 29th January, 2022.

Poem copyright © 2022 by Peter Ryuken B. Hermosura, “By the Bed”

Author's Annotations

I wrote this poem during a bout of anxiety. It portrays restlessness and the unrelenting stresses of today's life that we carry even by the time we go to bed. Rest, in this poem, becomes something dreaded, or worse, something that doesn't even exist within the minds of the weary.