Poor Maisie.
Her world just a blur
of faded colour—
Sterile, drab.
Intermingled, swimming colour,
like the hours of the day
that drift into night—unmissed.
Time... slipping by ...undetected
Minutes
Measured by the bite of the needle
and the time it takes
to climb higher than she'd ever been before
where the colours are music, shapes and sounds
and seconds can be heard and felt and seen
and the pain of her poisoned body
succumbs
to merciful numbness.

—Anon