It’s too cold to climb out from under
Under the weight of this weighted blanket.
A blanket of snow, too cold to run
Run barefoot through frozen memories.
Memories drift as I retrieve
Retrieve the Sunday paper, unread.
Unread cartoons make me smile—
Smile as I sketch the last frame.
A frame smudged with black ink,
Ink staining everything clean and neat.
Neat folds hide the dirty laundry,
Laundry like money never meant to keep.
Keep your heart safe and close,
Close, yet I have lived too long alone.
Alone, where you are not in bed with me—
Me, the solitude that aches for presence.
Presence here, now, fleeting,
Fleeting as the moment we are meant to live.
Living is dying, one breath at a time,
Time to go—
Go to bed,
A bed with weighted blankets.
BB Grey--musings 
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