Bed of Dreams
Lazy, useless, worthless piece of shit.
Those are the words I hear when I lay in bed all day.
Those are the words that drive my way every time I sit on it.
The ones who slap those words on face don’t know why I constantly sit on it.
Maybe if they would shut up for once and let me speak they will understand why.
They’ll finally understand that they’re the reason I sit on it so much.
They’ll finally realize that the bed I constantly sit on is what keeps me going.
Maybe, just fucking maybe, they’ll realize that this cushion is my savior.
Maybe if you questioned why all I do is lay and sit there you would understand why.
But since all you fucking do is just judge you don’t understand.
But I’ll tell you anyway.
This bed I lay on isn’t just because I’m “lazy” and because it’s comfortable.
But because this bed is my last resort to dream.
My place where if I close my eyes, dreams will arise and I’ll receive happiness.
The happiness I don’t receive anywhere else.
But sometimes this bed isn’t all happiness.
Because those fun filled dreams I receive aren’t reality. I’ll never live them.
I’ll never experience this happiness.
Which sucks, because my reality isn’t all that dreamy.
