My Mattress

Written in around 15 minutes in one of my classes.

    The back of my heel is touching the bed, my toes are pointing straight up. My feet are aligned, and my legs straight. My calves rest on the bed, as well, along with my thighs, my rear, back, arms, shoulder and head all lay on this mattress. It's old, and uneven. There is a slight bend to the mattress, where the springs bend and break, misaligning along the way. There is one large stain, then, lots of scattered ones around it. A once white mattress yellowed with age, splattered with red. When I lay on the mattress I can hear it creek. The springs staining. There are cuts and holes, where a knife may have penetrated the surface, once... or multiple times at that. The yellow insulating foam poking through the surface.

    My eyes face the ceiling. I don't dare look around me, I learned the hard way. Living with myself might kill me, if I look anywhere but in the direction of the popcorn ceiling. I say looking in the direction of because its dark. Not pitch black, but void. If someone tried hard enough, they could convince me I was in purgatory, it's so dark. I can't see my hand in front of my face, let alone see at all. My brain hallucinating spectacles of color. Trying to make something out of nothing, kind of like when you hold your hands in front of your eyes. My mattress is all I can say I know. When my mind is gone, my mattress is here, though the mattress I remember was much cleaner before not too long ago. 

    If I knew my temper was that bad, I wouldn't have gotten such a nice mattress... Nor would I have gotten such a nice dog.