Synesthesia

I describe my time in tunnels without ceilings to time in rows and rows of grey and beige. My numbers in clouds of white and murkiness.

I wondered what is wrong with my mind...do others see what I see? Within my mind are time and numbers and pain.
                             He asks, "What is the pain like?" It's like silver, I reply.

Within my mind are years that stretch out in tunnels without ceilings. On either side, and above and below is space; tunnels of space.
B.C. is dark and grey.
Victorians are white like the seventies and eighties and beyond the millennia.
                              I see time in tunnels and I feel pain in metals and numbers in space.

To my mind in tunnels, to my life in grace, two times in space
I race
and walk
and dance
and prance
and dream
and sleep
and writh
and wince
and laugh
and cry
and tumble
and rise.

I rise.