Photo credit: r. nial bradshaw

I just replaced the sheets on my bed.

I can tell because they are purple now and not spring green

and in creases they feel soapy.

They are crisp against my shoulders, my back,

my body resting heavily.

I can tell they are unwritten and I am their pencil poised and waiting,

soaking in time and saturating in plum

and feeling the vibrations,

I lay back:

revel in the humming,

reach out to taste the buzzing air

crawl inside to find the source of reverberation.

Between my ears I grasp at echoes

who escape between gaps in my fists

and I am left lying against the sheets who are purple, not green

fingers outstretched towards uncertain memories.


I just replaced the sheets on my bed

and their blankness is soothing as I lay against them

my body resting heavily,

I try to feel every fiber of their existence

but is like trying to feel the still air

or the rain drops of a heaving storm

and instead all I can feel is the pressure of their existence

I just lay back against the sheets that are not green

and feel the endless waves

radiating out.


Danielle is a college student pursuing a degree in Technology, Arts and Media. Sometimes she writes to fuel her boundless desire to create anything and everything. Her budding portfolio can be found at