Couch is home; a poem by Andreas Blaustein

I sleep on the couch all the time
But I do have a bed in the other room
The bed is for good days in life
That’s why I never sleep there no more
Passing out on the couch
Dying alone on the couch
Movie dialogues are lullabyes
I’ll die to the credits at the end
At least I ate some pasta
Made by my own fucking hands
Entertainment and movies and couch
It’s killing me slower than time
And people would kill for my life
So why can I not be okay?
Maybe my couch has the answer

2 thoughts on “Couch is home; a poem by Andreas Blaustein”

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