You feel like a De'ville. When the jersey sheet touches your skin you squirm and just need to slide out of your bed like butter running down stairs. You have no spine. You have no feet. There is a walking stick that has your face on the handle and as the old take you for a ride you simply smile and suckle at the palms of wisdom.
There is hollow. There is dark. There is the sound of a running toilet and the hum of the dryer. You put the dryer on just so you can hear something in the background that feels like life. You just want furry paws to paw at you and the stir of a soul. There isn't anything that can make you sleep except the pills. There isn't much to make you wake except for what you are.