Going Down

Our bed is descending slowly into the ground, like an elevator. I touch the cold, wet walls of earth. The darkness becomes thicker, but if I concentrate and stare straight upward, I see in the distance our bedroom ceiling. The bed sinks deeper and deeper, I have no control over this mechanism. There are no buttons, no way to get back up. Dirt and insects slowly fall on my mattress, filling it up. In the muck, I roll over to my other side and try to sleep some more.