Spills, spatters, and spews.
Nothing can rip my rear-end from you.
And utterly misunderstood.
My couch receives me like no one else could.
It’s seen me at my worst—
Never at my best—
Still, it gives me calm and rest.
Searching the darkness of my living room
My fingers feel for friends or foes.
Only one hand’s there to catch my weight:
A friend that cannot leave my home.
I’ve tried and I’ve failed to live a life I had liked to live.
I possess an Abdielian resistance to leave this couch
And face what could have been.