The Paraplegic Dictator

The Paraplegic Dictator He was in someone’s elses dream, the last hour seeking a way out to a place of never ending nightmares. And he says, even if it were an existence of utter boredom of one who lives for years after a stroke that makes him unable to move, to be fed by a tube, hear voices and your nakedness exposed in a room a bed and white sheets. A place doctors are not your friend, they are cowards cow who hates you and slap your face when no one looks, medical students pull your ***** and laugh at your useless ********. Yet for living a few more months, perhaps a year he is willing to tolerate it, the suspension of nothingness for a conscious life. In his enforced idleness thinks, what is the point believing in god, he has in me proved a cruelty that has no mercy and vengeance without compassion; god is death and the devil, life. Raw life as lived unwashed and dirty taken the pleasure were found and sod the consequences, because when god has toyed with you and is tired, the devil has no power to stop him snuffing you out. And the, body huge as a whale, white as pork belly, hear its morning footsteps in the hall and voices this give him comfort a hope that one day he will wake up and tell the world what he has seen. Only to hear god whisper in his ears: “You know nothing punk.”