The Bed

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By Nick Hardeman

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King sized and white

Swimming from corner to corner

Distant yet familiar

I’m here too often

Tossing and Turning

Rolling around

I stretch out searching

For something, someone.

I grab my pillow instead

I lay there monotonously,

Afflicted and addicted

The withdrawals are more painful

than the needles you used to stick in me.

I pray the Lord my soul to take

If I die before I wake.

For I no longer have a heart.