Unsteadily he lit up again and passionately tried to inspire the illicit experience into his remaining lung. The joint quivered between his tired lips, then fell like a dead weight onto the crisp bed, bringing his hand with it and with a wheeze exhausted him into a battle against a cruel sleep. A sleep so cruel as to be almost seductive in its charms, which in turn fuelled encouragement for his mind to search out its most green dreams. I uncrossed my legs to follow the hollow, empty stench circling above me, and with a kiss, I traded his brief taste of pleasure. I watched and waited.

Lazy vermilion danced by my side until I opened my eyes to see him shrouded in blue and muttering through the now long, stoney silence. "I’m not pretty anymore", I heard him say, as his ghostly shape turned towards me. The hesitant raising of his eyebrows ushered in a cool, demonic breeze which slickly caressed the room with a bitter shade of pink. His eyes barely glistened as I warily took his words as a question, offering my reply as unemotionally and as honestly as always: I agreed with him. He sort of acknowledged my sincerity before turning inside himself refreshed. We were alone together once more and I felt relieved.

A few seconds, a few minutes, maybe an hour passed before we spoke again and by now a diffident shroud of comfort had seeped around us masking us with its naked serenity. "Can you feel the love though? Deep inside?" I asked hopefully, pausing attentively for even the faintest reaction. Despite the austere whiteness of the room he slashed a bitter "I can..." at me through the asphyxiating, blood-red air, (that same air which seemed constantly to sustain his demise), immediately arousing a hostile reaction.

Suddenly the pain moaned throughout his boney body; his whitey eyes closed in their vain attempt to secure peace. "Forever..." he somewhat belatedly confided while ebbing jerkily into fantasy time. But before sleep, or perhaps death, would wrap its silvery fingers around him, he whispered softly. "Dreams come and go you know, and soon"... He stopped for a moment to tenderly squeeze my hand and also to rescue an errant pool of phlegm from his husky lungs. His once manly voice welcomed a strained attempt to reach even a whisper and he continued: "...soon, I’ll be dancing with angels... my...angels."

Sparkling freshly in the air, his words invited me to inhale deeply and release a long, affected sigh, and as I did I happened to notice for the first time that evening how black his small space actually was. I singed the darkness playfully with the tip of my cigarette, until the protecting red emergency light brought me abruptly back down to as close to reality as I could manage at that moment; for these are strange times, and he was now peacefully sleeping. I looked around and saw nothing. It was time for me to leave.