Bedridden

How long have I been bedridden?
Sinking in deep sheets of linen?
Months or hours, mould up my thigh,
Don’t want to leave, don’t want to try.
Forgiving white noise, the static from the screen,
Barely lucid, it mops my brain clean.
Needles on my rug, some used, some not,
Pricking my veins, inject that black tar rot.
Exert that trepidation, thoughts feel slender,
My eyes heavy, to drowsiness I surrender.
There’s no strife in the pillows embrace,
My head slumps, I lose myself to that blissful place.
Floating in dreams, this feeling forbidden,
How long will I be bedridden?