As shutters roll down on your eyes,
Machines hiss, brace and cease,
Before the spark from eye to lobe,
Retires into night.
Instead it finds a detour,
Past memory and mind.
As I take young, unsteady steps,
Off edge, unsure and blind.

Liquid, viscous, black as ink,
Spills into a pool.
Fighting for the space, although
Against pearlescent tides
Of memories that shine
That speak of hope and light and love,
The other dripping grime and screaming
Never to forget!
But neither has a stake or claim,
On any of me yet.

Then the scene is...