There is something wrong in the bones of this place.
The meat of the plaster is wretched with flies.
I am fragmented.
There are two versions of me that exist here.
I wake at night when the pity man comes.
He shakes his little tin box filled with teeth.
The nurses say he is harmless, but I see his children.
They boil the air.
Their shapes flicker across the walls, like ghost birds.
In my other me, this place is just a hotel.
Somewhere mundane, safe.
I pray that this a dream.
I pray that this note will be gone in the morning.
-Hidden in the bible.