Sadness grows when you're cold...

He slowly rolled out of bed, still in a haze from the nightmares that haunted his dreams. The queen size bed made him feel like he was lost in an ocean, yet as he slowly regained consciousness, even the bed felt tainted - mainly because it wasn't his. It was an inner-spring monument to lies, a petri dish of mendacity he had shared with everyone he once called family, lover, friend and shared now with creeping thoughts that flew from the light but left harsh scratches and diseased black feathers. He promised himself that, as soon as he could, he would rid himself of this life that was forced upon him, this bed, his clothes, his black glasses - everything but the flesh he lived in. He would scrub himself clean and flee to start a new life whose first and only commandment would be: never let thyself fall so far again.