Walking into pupil, it's black.
Light does not refract.
It pushes me forward with the brightest beam to a soft surface where nerves cross a threshold.
I pull my knife from a pocket and carve a path and I get so small.
The gnarliest monkey bars you ever saw, flash with light.
Some flicker and I climb my way over,
Stitching together damaged nerves to repair myself.
In every flicker and silence, hope dies.
I do my best to graft them back to life.
Wrinkles in tape, static ribbons bending pigments in on themselves,
I'll give you what I can before my own mind eats me.
It always ends with a long beep before someone turns off the machine.
The same, as in any movie when it goes technicolor.