Deciding which blanket

I've begun to decide which blanket to take to bed on a nightly basis.
Choosing any one in particular requires little more than gut instinct and little bit of attention to my specific needs for creature comfort.
And yet I know they all have feelings.
The cotton has something so sincere in its sea blue tint.
Meanwhile the polyester bouclé begs for attention with its plush fringe.

These are the musings of a madman,
a character who makes promises to his bottle of mouthwash.
And who should not be trusted with the safety of a blind woman's innocence.
A person wrought with the aches and gout of a self-sustained ambivalence.
This vagrant who once held a candle for the others to watch and wish for is now just another miserly man in the dark.
And he is so terribly unhappy.
Meanwhile completely and utterly alone.
And of his own devices no less.

There is no pity for a man with his hand in a bandage when his other hand still holds the bloody blade.
None can know the weight borne on melted wings.
For he once believed his soaring would take him beyond all of this gray, gray water.