Narrow View

I see the world through tunnels,
miniscule cracks in walls that
offer up images of tiny catastrophes.
It isn’t because of a narrow mind,
but a disease that eats my eyes and
gives me snippets of light
wrapped in bleak and fading paper.

My edges are defined by the cool
fingers of darkness that creep
up the sides of my visual field,
winding tendrils tightly around my retinas.
I collide with walls painted in pitch,
grasp at beams of fire that trickle through the slats,
and fall haphazardly to a floor that
disappears with the perishing sun.