Ugly Couch Pattern

Again, this poem is about an addict. The inner-struggles of the addict should be obvious. However, this poem is meant to be seen from the lover's point of view.

The print of the couch clashes with your bloodshot eyes. I never liked that pattern. Do you think you could sleep in the bed tonight? It has been too long on that couch by yourself. It still smells like your mother, and you know how I feel about her. I miss the times before, making pretzels with our feet on our mattress on the floor. Remember that? When you were clean? One night equals pronounced circles underneath your eyes. Two weeks - ten pounds gone. Maybe you like your mother's moth-eaten upholstery. You spend enough time with it.

Author's Note

This is a section of a collection.