Why are you so nervous? We are only stacking red leather books, They see you, reflect that faithfully. It is truly not your appearance. How could it be? We are trying things to get you out of the hospital; Hot plates, metal plates, tubes, flower pots. Nothing is working. You may die. I will come and see you after school today. You are looking meticulous and green, But your brain is still intact, snapping Like thorns off of cotton. I set my blue backpack down by the moniter. You do not want me to look at you. An ugly nurse comes in, saying something sad, Sneers at you and goes to prepare an autopsy. I lift my head. You twitch when I look at you. I hope you can get that fixed.