Floor Mattress

Springs groan beneath me like tired bones,

a mattress laid bare on peeling linoleum.

No frame to hold this thin skin

of foam and faded stains.

The room is hollow—too large,

empty walls swallow the ache.

Every shift a creak, a whisper,

a reminder: alone in a space that doesn't fit.

I sink deep, pressed flat against cold,

the mattress a mouth that eats all sound,

and dreams, like dust motes,

settle slow between the cracks of floor and skin.