A plastic tube in oval claret, Your fate lays in a monotone beep. A green line flickers, and hopes rest in uncertain waves, that have become your bedside beacon. I sing your favourite love song, hoping that you'll hear me, sometimes I forget the words, then realize I've just sang them subconsciously. As you flounder in pale shade, I scowl at the vibrant bouquets, that flourish in your decline, as fates cruel hand awaits its Croupier. Fate is a horizontal line, The illuminated split of jade upon black, Time is recorded by impervious staff, Who destroy the remnants of her in sheets, The bed is made for another, And I leave silently to silence.