Besedila: The Fair Weathered. Glass Cities.

I can't explain feelings I see like neon skies and these glass cities, being trapped by cloudy sheets, stapled to my bed by cold IVs. The doctors come in by their wings, singing songs just to put me to sleep. I wear a mask to help me breathe. I fall from the trees just like the leaves. When autumn hits, I think I'll leave and watch the sky from the world I treat. My life supported by shaking knees; the life I lead collapses under me. The floors all shine with harmony; blessed tiles covered like crowded streets. My body tattooed by surgery; cuts with intentions of only fixing me. Support ribbons are tied twice as tight for me, as if to make for twice the recovery. The doctors come in by their wings, singing songs just to put me to sleep.