There’s a rope, and it’s laid down flat in front of me.  
It turns into a snake with a yellow belly and red eyes,
and hisses at me,
“everything you’ve been told is a lie.  It’s not a circle, it’s a straight line”   So I’ve followed the rope to the end only to discover
I’ve been walking on cracked egg shells my whole life under the impression I left them whole eggs.  
It drops off at the end, it’s an edge and not rounded.  It drops off
and it’s a black hole looming before me.
I turn to run from it but everything behind me has gone grey
and I can’t see the rope anymore, just twisted mirages of it
I think I may have invented in my head.  
It’s a reflection from my memory,
not the real and solid yellow gold line that
once lay in front of me, behind me, where is it now?
Desolate grey full of secrets that I think I know the answer to
but when I look back realize I can never share, can never be apart of.  Ominous black ahead of me leering;
darkness I can’t see and it’s more of a mystery than what I left behind.
All sides are closing in in different shades of a dark, deceptive cloud
that I can never look through,
and only on the ledge where I stand is it white.

And as I fall into the mysterious abyss, the light follows me until what I left behind has gone dark and I have entered the swirl of blackness, shining.