I fear their faces. Vague outlines in the morning mist drawn by dry fingers like tokens of love across a steamed up shower shield. 

I fear their blank faces and peering grey eyes staring back at us;  delineated tadpole people ambling with the trepidations of drops slowly sliding down through moisture abandoned on vacant shower shields. 

I fear their faces, low brows and blood-red diamond eyes splashed by hostile water; a shower head spewing out lies to entice our rotting corpses to confess; to bathe in sulphuric acid without need for shower shields. 

I fear their faces, and the new day they bring.