Tristan Robert Lange

Bed Dread

I spend each night

Dreading my bed,

Not because it hurts

To lay down my head,

Or that I would rather

Be awake instead—

No, that is certainly

Not what I said—

But because I know

To whom I’m wed;

I mean not my spouse

To whom I’m dead,

Nor any vocation

In which I’ve led,

Nor of any illness

which I’ve been bled,

But that specter that

Wakes up in my head,

And reminds me

That I’m still not dead.

Oh, I know, it’s me painting

This shade of red,

And I’ll be dismissed

For refusing to be fed

A cake of caustic clichés like,

“Don’t let depression tread”,

Or any stupid saying

Without any cred.

Yet, let’s remember

This common thread:

True peace only comes

When one is dead.

Until that moment

I ‘ll have my bed dread.

© 2025 Tristan Robert Lange. All rights reserved.