The corroded bed frame sulks low,
Cocked against the wallpaper empty of seams.
The dust wafts and bellows from below,
Which has been there since your last dreams.
I polish off the remains of your presence,
For it wasn’t long before my delusion,
That I was confined in your reminisce.
Beseeched from lone, I go before conclusion,
Which neither judge nor jury could purge from purity.
The mattress flipped; gashed, shows my faint insecurity.
Culpable for the malformed frame, in time I’ll know,
Just what nightmare these iron bars will reap and sow.
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