Blanket Forts: ‘they took your life apart and called your failures art’ – elliott smith

though Cold this night,
my blankets cover me,
and those whose ghouls,
we think, might haunt
the wall – they stretch
their bones to grapple
at my sheets, or so methinks;
I pull and pull away! –
away they pull
three cloths that warm:
protect a childlike fort
they make for me.
the bedding is some
stationary calm, though
noises sound with floors
that creak and call – some
sigh, though my, my sweet
retreat of this heart
knows no escape could I
begin to make tonight.
in my warm blanket fort,
I cover ears and eyes
to await with anxious tremble
till the spirits pass
and beg my sighs
to silent sleep to fall:

where no one can pervade
my simple prayer, there
no ghosts, no ghouls,
nor angels may abound.

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