Drip. Drip. Drip.

It's late at night. You've been out with your friends. Had too much wine. Again. Now you're lying in bed and the weight of your body is tying you down. Your mind has sunk below the mattress, beyond the ground.

Drip.

But the sound. That sound. It's pulling you out.

You're moving into darkness. Beyond darkness. And even before the next vibration reaches your ear you anticipate. You wait. You know. It's coming.

Drip. Drip.

But you're too lazy to get off the bed. So you lie there. And each drop of water on the side of the basin is a call. A summons. A stirring to action. And it shouts to your brain: "Arise. Move legs. Move arms. Shift body. Come end me. Come kill me. I dare you. Switch me off."

Drip. Drip. Drip.

But you lie. You just lie there. And now you're counting them and although there are random and chaotic you've worked out their rhythm. You give them reason and purpose because you are to damn lazy to get out of bed and close the tap. Or perhaps because you enjoy torturing yourself in this way. Or perhaps for some insane reason although the soft dripping torments you on some other level you enjoy it. And then. Drip. You slip. Drop. Into blackness and the water that once bored a hole in your head is the river that transports you into the sweetness of dreams.