WEIGHTED BLANKET

BY JENNIFER DELANEY

Disheveled mess,
Me, myself, and I all alone together,
In our bed.
I sleep with my sorry self, curled up on one,
side.
If I turn to the right
It’s easier to
Sigh, let smoke and sin try to escape my sorry body and
Mind. It hurts my head but,
If I lay on the left,
Where my bad rib is, guts gone thin, damaged, no tangible,
Bandage but;
Glory and carnage to the gods of undergrad, special thanks to my first car crash and that weird flex of a
Prescription pad, as they say,
Ok boomer knows best, what could I even understand, about
Unrest, slept gone but not, kept?