An Unmade Bed

Dust gathers in the corners, a soft blanket of shame,

every kick of the foot stirs up an unspoken blame.

The mattress sags, like a promise I forgot to keep,

memories hidden beneath the sheets, collecting sleep.

Clothes strewn like confessions, piled high and deep,

a small fortress of chaos where silence dares not creep.

I sit on the edge, the floor grins back at me,

and wonder if comfort has always felt so cheap.