Infant in a Wormhole

Sound.
Smell.
Zephyr.
Space.
Where are the barriers?

Color.
Shape.
Ripple.
Thrum.
What’s going on?

Prickle.
Waver.
Tremor.
Pulse.
Is everything ok?

Prism.
Mosaic.
Umber.
Haze.
What was that?

Sultry swelter.
Glacial mist.
Gauzy distortion.
Vaporous voices.
Who is that?

Quaking.
Aching.
Horror.
Alarm.
What are you doing?

Constrict.
Convulse.
Recoil.
Rebuke.
Stop it.

Turmoil.
Upheaval.
Bedlam.
Anarchy.
Why is this happening?

Clammy, sticky touch.
Blunt force on bone.
Tiny legs everywhere.
Sour, bitter, dry.
What is happening right now?

Phantasmagoric obfuscation.
Blood searing skin and vein.
Acrid, miasmic cacophony.
Self no more than discombobulation.
Glass splintering through gray matter.

No.
No!
NO.
SCREAM!
Deluged by inundated sensation.

Stop.
Make it stop.
Flailing for leverage.
Scrabbling for equanimity.
Just bring it back!

Make it dark.
Make it quiet.
Make it unbound.
I’m sorry.
Sameness is not mine.