Sucked Dry

A little OCD-ness made this poem possible.

With a quick pace and a light foot

I walk steadily

Hoping to reach my destination

Before the carpet sucks

All the moisture from my feet.

Sometimes I want to tip-toe everywhere,

But my feet aren’t ballerinas.

When my destination is bed,

I’m forced to unmake a bed,

I’m would have never gotten directly into.

Removing all smiling stuffed animals

To the floor to being an unhappy night.

Guilt lines my being,

But sleeping with all of them

Compromises my comfort to a fuller extent.

In a matter of minutes

I begin examining the remains of a bed,

Never perfect.

All my bedding is thrown to the floor.

I remake a made bed from scratch

For a fresh wrinkle free environment

Where I toss and turn,

Attempting the perfect dreams

Where even I am NORMAL.