Likeness

[busker]

I put my head
against a smooth, silk blanket.
It kept me comfort for a while.
It was soft to the touch
and welcoming
as the arms of it
surrounded me,
enfolding me in a net of safety,
burning away all fear,
burning away all pain.
The silk felt like me.


My hands met a mirror
as I rested in the embrace of silk
and I felt the likeness
that the mirror held
to my hand.
The mirror felt like the silk blanket.
The mirror felt like me.


The mirror felt like me
and as touched the mirror
I gazed into the windows of a building
that had once been hardened
but now the windows were soft,
soft like silk
and I being curious needed to feel
the feel
of the silk
that was in the blanket,
the mirror,
and the windows of the building,
for the windows of the building
felt like the silk blanket.
The windows of the building felt like me
and I could see
that the inside
was not so different
from what I had been
before I had found better days.


Now,
I miss the blanket,
the mirror,
and the windows of the building,
that greeted me warmly
because they were trying to fight the lonely,
if only for a time.
I miss them because they felt like silk.
The silk felt like me.
The silk felt like me.

There is the kernel of a good poem in this one. I like the idea of the sheets as a guard between you and the world. It is not a new idea (nothing ever is), but it can still be told well.
If you make it less obviously about you, and think of how to make it interesting for the reader, it can work well.
Imagery, sonics, rhythm, and succinctness are missing here.