I fall onto the grass, being in an abnormal state attributed to an excess of black bile and characterized by irascibility or depression. My lungs press into my rib cage, clicking and snapping as a mechanism or teeth coming together. An impending pain waits in the pit of my stomach, waiting eagerly to rip me apart.
   
  "I can't go back," I heave out, "Not back home." I stand up again and moving, rolling, or progressing from nothing other than momentum. Sirens ring from a distance, soundwaves chasing me through the air.
    
     Slow. Everything is going slow. Traces of objects last in the atmosphere, causing me to have a sensation of whirling. not at all helping my tendency of falling. I slam into the ground like a dead-weighted object, but I immediately spring back from the surface in a lively manner. Wings spread out of my back, radiating, admitting, and reflecting little light which hides me in the midnight gloom.
     I float into the air, looking down at the rusted, dead ground. My black wings spread out larger and I start to morph chemically and mentally into something that iniquitous creatures would fear.

     Novelty memories rest in the damp air, only to last as a paperback book of poetry. Zeppelins rain upon me as I watch the world devour in it's pain.

     In all the pain.