The covers,
Once billowy and soft,
Now seek to strangle me beneath their warm embrace.
Trapped in a box,
Half-filled with tongs.
Used to keep laser-red eyes open.
The pair of them,
Peering,
Cause sleep sheets to freeze.
When the tongs run out, the spotlight is no more.
The now invisible cloak, creeps closer and closer.
It's presence felt by the air.
Time is my greatest enemy in this unending plight.
The assassin known as,
Darth Bedsheet,
Is almost upon me,
Under the cover of night.
I struggle on, even as I realize,
This is an unwinnable fight.