Words slip in and out of my mind like a glossy oil painting. Nothing fixed, sloppily placed percussions of prose.

Perhaps I should be more circumspect and place my piffling thoughts less precariously.

I should be sleeping, but words escape from my partners mouth when he rests and dreams. Maddening me and bringing on a sad insomnia. Now I’m writing but irritatingly he has followed me downstairs. And he continues to witter on about anything, nothing and the chemical formula of cheese.

Go away back to your sleep I whisper but he mutters back “it’s called Christianity ” “let me go” and “we are watching you to see what you do”…… A constant stream of words forced out by deafened ears.

He talks at me, I say I don’t want to speak, what was gentle discourse turns into hard, short and foolish words. No expletives spoken but simple Anglo saxon prose practiced in my mind and almost reaches my mouth.

I tell him to remain downstairs and I retreat to bed. My train of waffling whimsy is lost in exhausted turmoil and slow slumber.