Bone-white walls, green and white linoleum, a sunlit solarium full of ivory-colored morning-flowers, my sister's old violin collecting the shimmering galaxy of diamond dust dancing above, my brother's ball cap, I wear it and pretend like I'm pitching a no hitter, I like the white-light eye-appealing beauty the shards of broken light make in curled, gentle arcs on the faces of the pictures encased in glass, an ornate ebony treasure box with an antique iron lock, how the saddened fractals break through the unpierced breath-fog on the window and how they blanket the dull ache and the waiting Will-o'-the-Wisp with watchful eyes by the peach tree, another verse, an emerald atop a marble table, another day and another bright white sun bursting into white-hot flames and flowering green meadows, I take baths all day from sunrise to sunset, I cannot be executed, and I cannot be freed when the prison is me, it doesn't matter if I am lonely, if I were dead I'd be much happier.