Bed Of Nails

My bed is made of nails

There are thorns in my socks

I move slowly as snails

But it never seems to stop

I grind my teeth to dust

And close my eyes in fear

But open them I must

As I’m falling off the pier

I tried to fight the demons

And fight them I did so

From under

The scent of freesias

Made me sickened with woe