There is a gas mask clasped against my face
And a foul stench of rotting strawberries engulf my lungs
The woman is patting my head, counting,
And I am sure my eyes are wide and red
All things are turning black
Cold hands massage a shoulder
An effort to comfort me, though
On increasing the anxiety
Everyone is moving around me
And the last thing I remember
Before seeing only black
Is that gas mask and the ether
That rose from plastic pores
