I have returned to a patio of luxury.

A long drink with a dash of you,

An essence I missed forever.

I have returned to an atrium of cashmere.

A pleasant day spent travelling on you

To arrive at the crown of your hair.

I have returned to a room of gold.

How lovely to love someone named you,

A crescendo I heard long ago.

Shall I compare you to Musical.ly stars?

Your profile says "i only live once, girl".

Because haters gonna hate even us,

Like, summer's expiration date's over.

I lost my sunglasses, it burns real hot,

Even my tan is not fake now; you ask

Where's my beach body in such trying times,

Well I had a cupcake or two (or twelve);

But look at you, having those curves just fine,

Not skinny, losing no pounds, just 'follow's,

Because you don't need filters for likes,

Created wonderful as are, God knows.

   So long your mirror is not distorted,

   So long you break those ceilings, you're OK.

Beautiful spinal cord, almost stunning. Designed and trademarked by an angel, maybe a muse, yes. Mix in more of that personal magic. Don't follow the recipe, Euterpe.

Form that body between your hands, isn't it like dough? Sweet, filled with sugar, no, it must be honey, use honey! That will never expire. Makes the skin smooth, too.

Choose the whitest set of teeth. Make it look like a diamond when flashing a smile. Charming. And fill the empty chambers of the heart. There is plenty of ingredients left.

Here: harm, love. Use both. These will merge in the brain and end in silence. Maybe it will hurt someone, but don't think about that. Add some ignorance, that'll do.

Perfect. Ready and complete. Looks more like a god, not a human being. Delight in what you made and let it run, ruin everything. It will stay true. True and lethal.

I am still recovering from the damage. Made itself an acquaintance, then a friend. Made me a believer—told you, a god. Scarred and convinced me it was my fault. It was, yes.

Then a stranger again. Left, got more pain to cause somewhere else. It was wrong to disobey the recipe, Euterpe. Serve in a million portions, it said. Not a single dose.

Trevor Queens graduates from Brown. Just like his father, he is a psychologist and can't wait to put all that he learned into practice. To his surprise, the acclaimed Nerz Institution offers him a position. When he leaves for New Caledonia, he is astonished by the beauty of the clinic; his future workplace. He settles into his study, and begins working as the psychologist of the nurses working in the facility. After a few months, he is familiar with everyone, except the treated patients, because he never sees any. Every nurse seems reluctant to answer his questions regarding the maintenance, while they are eager to share every detail about their life. Trevor can hardly disguise his qualm. Adelaine, the Chief Nurse offers him a 2-week recess as their patient.

Trevor abides and makes two discoveries: how The Nerz Institution provides such successful research and why they employed him.

He was the only missing piece.

The only missing specimen in Adelaine's Zoo of Schizophrenia. There is no way back.

Can he escape? Is he able to convince the other inhabitants to stand with him?

But most importantly, should they leave at all? Is the Zoo a prison, or a shelter?

We are all broken,

But we are trying to mend,

Stealing screws and gears from sad robots,

Crying hymns for stillborn children.

We are all broken,

No one seems to help, instead

Licking our own scars and wounds like strays,

Burying strong love with weak hands.

We are all broken,

And we never cease to be.

How would the infant breathe when it's dead?!

Please say a kaddish when I leave.

May you have a long, happy marriage.

I've given you my blessings, and I braided

Your hair in your sleep. He was vicious in bed,

And you got to know I'm vicious when I'm dead.

I've watched you as a bride, white from toes to head,

With him, you did fantasies I never had.

I threw blessings over you, remember that.

May you have a long, happy marriage.

I've named your children after my wounds.

Hounds tore them apart, remember?

Do you remember their cries for help?

Those were mine as well.

Can you see the fire destroying your

Lungs? The epidemy mortals call 'cancer'?

Didn't I set that fire? How would you know,

I'm everything but a sin-bred prancer.

Was it an accident? The fiery horse,

Kicking the spirit and organs out of him?

No, that was me. Will you divorce,

Or feed him? Feed him like a baby?

He'll be your only son, not a miscarriage!

This is your future: I've given you my blessings,

I delivered them:

May you have a long, happy marriage.

A mother drowned her sons this Tuesday,

The daily magazine reported.

In the blaze, the hurtful summer haze,

Cold water was relief and madness.

A mother drowned her sons, fifteen months

Babies, they weren't fed gold for lunch.

Willow branches shamelessly shut the

Dreaming infants' eyes, when it was night.

A mother drowned her sons, and the killed

Herself too: the town had three to mourn.

A naked night was burdened by the

Heavy crying of the Missouri.

The walnut tree in the yard was old.

My mom hired a lumberjack, who

Would later arrive with a quite bold

And slightly annoying attitude.

He started with the smaller branches,

So we could portion the wood later

On, when he would be done with the job.

I was crying, because I missed the 

Old walnut tree. And its flying leaves

Encircled me, the last embrace, both

Comfortable and anonymous: meek.

What I did not know, that feeling,

The little hymn of broken leaves, which

They muttered in my ears was simply: change.

Here they stand

My unwritten poems and unsent letters.

Stacked on a shelf.

They pave a way,

A way for those thoughts,

That keep me wake

When I could be dreaming.

Dreaming about letters with an address

And poems with a reader.