I’m sick of my gasmask, sick of the morphine, take me out of the wall. I’m sick of the metal, sick of the oil that’s pumping through my veins. Where is the daylight? Where is the sunshine? Just fake light on this ward. Where is the night time? Where is the moonlight? Take me out of the wall.

Sudden shock sets in and whispers “deny” in his ear. Help me doctor, I don’t like what’s going on.

I come in and out now, and is that blood I feel creeping down the back of my neck? I looked in the mirror, even my reflection managed to catch this cold.

It’s dark; I can’t see what’s bleeding. Don’t be stupid it’s your own face you’re seeing.