What the eye does not see

Darkness. Cold. Despair.

Imprisoned in this solitary containment coffin, forced against my will to live here, forced isolationist. My own prison cell without bars, vast location and still, claustrophobic, cage without a sky but with an eternal steady climate.

Not good enough or bad enough.

Still I can only feel the cold and dark trail left into me from the despair that torture my broken soul. I’m kept apart, broken doll left to rot, forgotten, on the highest shelf.

I haven’t asked all this.

It was You who had come to me, with blades of slashing words, bringing pain into my existence, confining me in this blank, monotonous, white world. I lived a rich, happy life, in my shrouded world made of towers and clouds, of nobles and plebs, of known and unexplored lands.

Then You came.

Pointing at me with armed fingers, like guns of deadly caliber, shooting on me confetti of barbed wire, hiding behind beautiful words, leaving me undefended, forcing me to hurt myself in order to survive. My arms against my face, covered in my blood, leaking from a thousand wounds.

Condemned to death without any jury, injured from your fake pity, slashed from the true hate hidden among yourselves. Tortured, day by day, from your, so called, cures and treatments to heal me from a condition that You see as wrong, a difference to eliminate.

An error to be corrected.

I’m not wrong, nor I am right. I’m what I am, as you are, deep inside of you, what you should be.

And I scream to the world my suffering, but it ignore my voice!

Why?


[A white padded cell, confining a man in a straightjacket, as he mutter words that are incomprehensible for the doctors that observe him in silence, as they try to heal an illness that maybe doesn’t even exist if not in the hidden hate toward what is different. ]