When I stare at your empty face I see you have become so pale, so pointless. Your eyes blankly looking out at the landscape where the waves lap seductively up to the stony beach.

I sense the cascading sighs and thoughts of ‘if onlys’ that fail to break through your lips. Lips shrewd and silent, concealing the deathly weapon of the sword-tongue.

The desire to read, the desire to write haunts me day and night and I end up flipping from side to side in a hopeless pursuit of finding the truth. The truth is a secret that nobody wishes to share.

The ink isn’t permanent in my mind so my fingers manifest what is mentally apparent. And what is apparent of you? What do I expect? Those glorious walls to be awash with my face and everybody’s thumbs wearing away the ink of my words?

I bet you think this is all a big joke. Do I look like I’m laughing? I’m standing beside your bed number three, and you don’t even care to look at me. Your absent grin is making the skin crawl on the back of my head while you’re sat in your bed! You are driving me mad! If only I had an excuse to possess…!

Now look what you made me do! I have worked myself into a steamy temper!

The gentleness of the pinks and light greens is no longer softening my eyes.

Instead, all I feel is quiet and cold, quiet and cold. And you don’t even raise you head, as I stand by your bed. Bed number three.