Reflection in the Window

I look at myself in the reflection of my window.
You want to know what I see?
I see a sad young lady, staring into the dark outside world.  She's wearing a long, checkered, teal and white hospital robe that velcros at the front, a gray t-shirt, and dark gray pants.  Her glasses are slightly crooked, the lenses speckled with dried up tears.  Her long brown hair has a slight curl as it messily flows down her shoulders.  Her face is slightly red from crying, her eyes dark and gloomy.  A stray tear runs down her cheek, landing in her lap.  She sits on her bed, a plastic mattress dressed up to look like a real bed.  The bed is neatly made with the almost-periwinkle colored blanket spread over the sheets and an extra white blanket folded up neatly at the foot of the bed.  The flat pillow rests comfortably atop the colored blanket at the head of the bed.  Along the sides of the bed, two metal bars run, connected at various points.  They hand slightly from an attachment somewhere on the side.  The bed looks institutional, the room looks institutional, the young lady feels institutional.  She sighs and looks to the floor to think of all she has screwed up, how her life will never be the same, only wishing for a miracle, but doesn't have much hope.
This is her life.
This is what I see.