Ode to a Sealy

I'll never forget that bed.
It was covered with vines and red roses
And had seen more violence and tears,
Than meaningful rests and reposes.
I could tell you each and every bloodstain,
Every teardrop that marked it mine.
I remember that rip in the corner,
And cuts from long forgotten knives.
It's been so long since I've touched the thing,
It was left in the house it belonged to.
Ghost-ridden and sorrow-filled the both of them,
But still they were hard things to leave.

The only reason I mention this,
A macabre relic of my past,
Is that while I was dreaming,
Only a couple nights back,
I awoke to the strangest of feelings
Though it was over in a flash,
That I lay on that tear stained mattress
As if I had never left.