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.”
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