Doona

Squirming underneath,
Our legs become twisted.
Like the chewing gum in your underarm hair.
The gnawing urge of academia waits,
For silence.
Latch on and bury itself in my skin, a parasite.

Motionless in the dark,
Because I hear voices: a family.
So I bury myself into the carpet, a nobody.

It is that time again,
And I am throwing myself around.
And I am retracting myself in my head only.
And I am burying myself in the feathers that pin me down, keep me warm.