You said the morning had brought new promises you had to pursue, you would be later than expected. And that what you said the night before had no meaning or intent. Now without conversation, the words that would determine our being, I sit and wait, the fingers of the clock stopped still, certain as the smile of Osiris. You are tired of injuries, waking each morning to the same silence, the same malady. Everything here is white, the colour of science.
Medicines come and leave messages in the mind, in each blood cell, for a time.
Someone sends letters to god and beatifies friends, saints of pills and electricity. And the lady who always wears a hat is certain that the flowers her husband brought are red and yellow poisons she will inhale and then die. You do not speak to them, they are different, they are mad and might exhibit danger. It would be useless to scream, no-one would listen, you would have wasted your time. You know more than the doctor, he has no secrets you have not already learned.