Shakespeare for the contextual, incoherent mind.

The Keys rattling in your pocket--
bones...
the mottled joints of a parting. Broken bones of a goodbye.

Sleeping alone in the quiet, you realize that the dark is more than just a room's deprivation of light and sound.
There's an absence of a pulse in close proximity that is almost quite overwhelming.
I slept for a while hand on heart because I couldn't regulate my breathing or still my thoughts.
The beats of the right hand side of the bed, were (for whatever reason) part of me
but not enough so that I didn't recognize them as something also apart from me.
And here's your advice:
sleeping on your stomach provides greater comfort.
Dealing with the pressure of a bed is preferable holding up the weight of a ceiling.
You, who seems to never sleep...
I wish for you a morning ( soft ) blanket that tiptoes in oh so very quietly
and puts the shadows to bed.