when getting out of bed is difficult

 my mother usually tell me,

early in the morning

just as when the rooster

sings by the roof,

that I should fold my blanket neatly 

and put it on top of my pillow

but my sheets weigh

kilos of loneliness

and grows heavier by the day

and especially on nights

when my feather-like dreams

float away

and sticks unto the sky

and I woke up in the middle of a trance

and I found myself drenched

and blankets a mess.