no words. no movement.
vegetable they call him.
because he cannot breathe, eat, excrete on his own.
he is totally and completely unable to do anything on his own.
and here he sits, year after year in his hospital chair.
propped up by numerous fluffy pillows.
peel away the useless body, the layers of flesh that have long been disconnected from the brain.
peel them all away,
and i wonder what you would find?
is it really possible to have an empty mind?
where is his soul?
is he angry at being so helpless.. unable to even relieve himself of the misery, not even given the opportunity to end his own miserable life?
should he be angry at all?
is his body a prison, or a dependable fortress? or both?
he is trapped, yet safe, floating in the sea.. encompassed by the walls his brain has built.
he is incarcerated.. yet.. hides from the wild behind the bars at the zoo.
i cannot speak for you or him
and what i thought you meant
really was something i made up
but
you are really me and i am actually him
we are two sides of a coin
all floating in the same imprisoning sea
all battling the fiercest gales
all crying and floundering and gasping precious air
we are all in the same boat.. nay
we are all not in the same boat
my soaked clothes and hair reveal
that i fell out of that sea worthy craft long ago
and i think you will find similar circumstances
concerning yourself.
let us say, rather;
we are all in the same treacherous waters
for the safety of a boat, i have never known.
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