i am moot.

 I have no meaning

when I am around.

yet after 

being cast aside,

suddenly 

my stories matter 

but only if

they get to tell them.

what a discomfort

that I don't get to choose.

they get to rely on 

lies in the future.

to keep me from

from reading to much 

into things.

I choose to bookmark

my place 

in their past.

bed you made

 in fact,

you didn't make it up.

you left it a mess. 

and I have a feeling

that when you return home

you'll jump back into it 

the way you left it. 

the least you could do

 is leave me 

the cool side of the pillow.

I'll roll out of  bed

when it's time 

to wake up.