I want to crush these pages into dust.
There is a mother with her child on her lap.
His head is connected to millions of cold zapping wires.
I come alive.
I feel the surging sting through my brain,
As I had felt once before.
It is cold. It is dark.
I want to rip these wires from my head.
I feel them dig into my skull.
My mother holds my arms down. Helpless.
Now the present, I sit on my mother’s lap.
The room is dark, and I am naked.
I feel the cold wires in my brain, in my eyes.
I look to my mother.
She is not there.