i hate sleeping alone

recently, in some part of the world, in some hospital, some baby that was previously declared as dead was revived from his mother holding him up to her skin, kangaroo style
i wonder if that will always be our longing
for that skin-to-skin kiss
atleast it seems to be a need for me
as I clutch to my lifeless pillow hoping for it to resurect something lifeless within me
or to return to the womb,
to come home,

its 6:30
and im thirsty

instead of sleeping, my mind hypothetically bounces through the rolledex of potential cuddle partners in my head
and sadly i always believe the dream and wake up clutching the pillow
unsatisfied
and deflated with longing
a fucking raisin in the sun
"my hands burry" themselves into the keys to find reprieve, because maybe someone will notice me, and maybe, just maybe writing will take me home
atleast buddy said so,
so here i go, writing my way back to the womb,
the keys are my umbilical cord, grounding me in skintimate kisses, as I strip myself bare and open to the world,
as I was when I was born
but, i'm probably just trying to make myself feel better.

story this poem refers to: http://today.msnbc.msn.com/id/38988444/ns/today-parenting_and_family/t/moms-hug-revives-baby-was-pronounced-dead/#.Tu9JqtSmi1U

music: drake-i hate sleeping alone