frame of minds

am I forgotten
amongst metal frames corroding
endless corridors, starched white sheets
remnants of my meals, dried upon the
pale blue gown I wear
– I never liked this colour blue

are you aware of
the breath you draw, is the exhale
breathed of me – as you daydream drying plates
looking onto fields of green, I’m amongst those
who soil their pyjamas and weep, take that rubbish away
– I do not like your jelly

I wonder if you notice
your visits are rare – in my head I see you smile
hear your voice, why have I so many bruises
the colour of petrol on my skin that’s paper thin
– I tell them they have to move me more

so will you come and visit
sit and read to me whispering – ‘you’ll be home soon’
back where I belong, where I can dry your plates
I’ll…