Trapped

As your suffering, beyond these words,
Slips inexorably into number

And you are ripped flesh, tears,

Spasm of fears and family made fact,
I wonder what happens to your mind.

Do usual patterns of thought just stop

Or are they slowly shrugged off, snake skin?

Is new thinking circumscribed like everything,

Alive in its moment, the same for you all:

Living microsecond in microclimate,

Toying with all we can grasp?

Does it bear to let you think like I do

Of your mother, friends, your past?

Maybe counting quarter-breaths,

Mapping and keeping awake is key:

You’re new here now, strict pain's trainee.

I wish you an other world,

For us both; and as you scream
I wish you were a little mad,

Foam rubber wrapped around your mind.
You should escape with all your senses blind.