springs in my mattress

the springs are pushing

out of my mattress, poking

throughout the night i

toss and sigh as they

prod and pinch my skin

i layer sheets and blankets

on the top, until it’s comfy

making my bed is

a particularly difficult chore

for the boredom in which

i am trying to ignore

in the time it takes to endure

the springs are still there, though

though i cannot feel them

they are still pushing through

the fabric of the mattress

and no matter how many

blankets i add

sheets, cushions

soft fleece duvets until i

feel like im laying on a piece

of soft, fresh white bread

the mould, the springs

push through the  flesh of it

and sometimes, when i sleep funny

i feel the imprint of their clasp

on my back

no matter how

i cover it

the irritation, frustration

no matter how i try

to cover the madness

layers of sickly sweet smiles

a passive tone, a blank voice

beneath it all

beneath the sheets

there is anger

there is anger here

i can’t anchor

at the world

this life

the injustice of it all

at being a woman

at being worked to the bone

at barely feeling like

home is a home

beneath

the happy face

is a disgraced space

in which i am trying

not to let loose the rage

but unlike

a mattress

i cannot buy a new brain.

12:54pm - 19/11/25