5am

A mirage of a spider scales your bare back,

Peroxide bursts your plastic skin,

You cling inside a curtain, among wet tiles;

Where lime mould bleeds from bruised grout.

Mould fed the flies, now stuck in time; immobile on the ceiling from summer’s decline.

Crimson water spirals,

Drags your feet into the plug of black oblivion,

You scream to be free,

Scream not to repeat,

Repeat not; until your feet are safely entwined upon the seashell towelling bathmat.

Your mind dissipates like a phantom, like condensation,

Exhaled on a broken mirror,

You wipe your breath clear, you mutter vaguely,

Did I lock the door?