Lonesome, cold.
Sitting in that sterile bed, in that sterile room.
Eerie sounds echo down the hall.
Are they footsteps? Are they your imagination?
Curling up closer to the pillows, you slide the sheet tighter as you close your eyes and pray for rest to come.
But the pain will not leave.
Unblinking, your eyes stare into the darkness.
Looking for something, anything.
All the night you spend like this, afraid, insomniatic.
As the dawn creeps over you, the world stirs again, and still you stare. Eyes locked on the edge of the bed, your world is frozen.

. . .
no end


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