Its your bed, that you make
slaps skin to bones, singing to eat
scud cladding your head, keeping you awake

So alone, in the night with the shakes
a junkie shoots her own, while others try and sleep
Its your own bed, that you did make

And all the pills, you continue to take
against the Doctors orders, or so it seemed
with scud cluttering your halls, keeping you awake

Beauty Queen lays slain, found by the lake
Its too easy, to visualize in these dreams
but its your own bed, that you have made

Cried out for help, to true to be fake
scars paint your wrists, and the pain is too deep
cluttering scud in your head, makes you awake

I wanna help you, find a better way
take you to a different place, put your mind at ease
but, its your own bed, you did make
The scuds clouding your eyes, keeping you awake

41,311 Poems Read