I Have Become Stale

My knees held tightly to my chest, I thought the storm clouds were miles off in the distance, Of someone else's distress. But morning came, and the storm remained. No water nor washing could wipe away the stains of sorrows And restlessness from my covers- My detrimental haven... I could rot away here, the irony being I already do. What treasures can shake me from my trance? Little seems to speak to me anymore- I have become stale.