The Edge of the Bed

The Edge of the Bed 

I sit at the edge of the bed,

Thoughts always seeming to swim through my head. I

stare at the window, the view lackluster. It takes all my dwindling courage to simply muster,

mudter up the strength to move.

But, move I will not.

My body planted at the edge of the bed.

I don't like staying here, but stay I will. Simply, it's what I'm  comfortable with. I shift a slight, but movings is only a might

Really I must move, but stay I will

I stay, stay even as I rot. 

What is left is up to thought.

Am I really here?

Or is it just my maggot collecting body...

My mind will swim, swim really it will try.

But alas, I'll only drown.

Even if my conscious is long gone,

I will stay stay even as I rot.

Staying still tests me. I atest. I atest. No matter the variable, I am still only able, 

To sit at the edge of the bed!