You know that feeling when you get a new mattress
and the label says
You want to tear it off so badly
but you’re afraid it might explode in your face
or completely fall apart

After everything you’ve gone through;
Paid money for it $$
Thrown out the old one
Prepared yourself for this day…

And now you are doubting everything you’ve ever known.

And what does the fucking mattress do?

It sits there.
Just flops down,
Meaning well but causing migranes and bad poetry and sour tears.

You’ll miss that old mattress
With that stain that looks like Indiana
and how it smells like your shampoo

You can’t have it back, because it’s already in the incinerator.
Burnt up.

You’ll want to go back to the point of
after the before, but
before the after,
but you can’t, because your time machine is out of order.

In the end, the song “Thunder Rolls” by Whoever In The Hell Wrote It will finally make sense.

And the mattress will continue to sit
wasting space and thoughts you can’t spare.

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