Here’s the hard part: when there are no plugs to pull, visitors are ushered back to their vehicles, and an endless crescendo of unvoiced cries manipulate the silence of hospitals at night. And indistinct wishes made on my behalf are rationed and assigned to specific tasks, like staving off nightmares, dismissing random pains or petitioning disaster to increase its pace. I’ve found a space between consciousness and dream to invent a life inside. A stack of photos; a handmade shelf: mysterious and foreign relics of health. Wilted flowers strain to scent the room. I don’t need flowers. I just need you. I’ve found a space between consciousness and dream to invent a life inside. I feel the building pulling up its roots, seceding from the world I knew…and a separate lid behind closed eyes reacts to this and opens wide. Staff pours out from stiffening walls, their clipboards ripe with protocol for static hearts and absent sounds. The script is all in pencil now, so take me home. Burst through these doors. I’m uninsured and I’m sure…I’m sure I can’t stay anymore.