Expecto Patronus

In the same kind of facility that I have seen three relatives strangled by Death's cold hand, I found myself in Greater Harlem Nursing Home & Rehabilitation Center. I hate nursing homes. For their smell. For their droves of hopeless faces that break my heart. For their tendency to rob me of the people I love with their densely unforgiving silence. The smell of stale air is pungent to my nostrils and I beg the Lord to move me from this God awful place where I am visited once more with the twinge of rank air and Death's insensitive disregard for sending people to the Crossroads sooner than it should. I've got to get out of here because I can feel this nursing home sapping my soul, though it has nothing to do with the staff or the stench. It's a spirit in here that is draining me, like this is a breeding ground for dementors. I need freedom from this cyclic realm of depression, because I can almost feel myself giving up on everything too.