crumpled like a sheet of paper
you lie on your sheets, wasted
vainly attempting an unfurling—
you twist and you turn, and you twist
some more; grunting your gut out
in a grim grimace; what more can you do?
when all those billowing and swirling
shapes are there, up in the ceiling
and you are here, nestled in your sheets
scarred and scared shitless—
shitting yourself; shit, oh shit.
you are not satin, nor silk
like you once thought, my dear
as to billow, swirl and unfurl—
the thought just makes my blood curdle
you are paper; plain and simple
devoid of things that razzle and dazzle
why not instead learn
the art of origami—
fold yourself a hundred times
and be reborn : a swan, a crane, a monkey
now, wouldn’t that thought be lovely?