my bed

my bed,
doesn't dream like it used to
the night,
must have fell onto its frame
deadly like regret,
i can't even sleep anymore
not without waking
in the middle of a world
where fortune doesn't fit in the atlas
the fastest prayers
get caught in the electric lines
nothing is quite like it used to
burdens become formalities
to tragedy,
trained with the same intensity of an assassin
it destroys
the deepest dreams without even asking
everything around us,
crashes down so easily
as if blood were not strong enough bricks
and sacrifice were as simple as smiling
the truth doesn't stand like it used to
perhaps because it has been broken
too many times to remember
a broken kite
surrenders its strings
because the wind treats it
like we treat the breeze
our toxic touch
clings to the air
it is impossible to rest like before
in this bed
that cringes instead of climbs
crumbles instead of binds
folds instead of diving head first
into the possibilities of progress
this mattress
molds its edges into a matchbox mayhem
where flames are on finger tips
and dreams drink cans of gasoline
to break free from the deserts they dig through
this bed doesn't dream like it used to
and my eyes,
wish they could sleep
but the night,
doesn't work like that it says
its been said,
the world will come to an end
when the sky opens like hands
and grabs the ground up
because walking has never suited
these people
my bed doesn't dream like it used to
I guess it's waiting for you to notice