ALIVE.I wonder what that feels like. Will I ever be able to remember? What does ‘alive’ really mean to you, to me, to the man on the pavement? I guess it differs but we are forced to tell the elders’ lie.
No opinion of our own is allowed, not even in our own minds. Maybe death inside of you is better for you and the others. I sometimes wonder if I ever have been alive. Probably. But I find it wise to forget. Is feeling alive really what I want or is being numb better?
The others decide for it was they who killed me. Those who hit me when I only showed a hint of a smile, are the same beings whom are laughing with pure delight. They move, I move. They hit, I scream. They cry, I hide. I’m their puppet, by imprisonment not by choice.
I remember once I was alive. It wasn’t that long ago. I was his puppet as well, not in the deadly way. So I thought though. He smiles, I smile. He cries, I cry. He hates, I hate. He leaves, I die. His face I since haven’t seen, yet he remains my master. I now realize it was another hand he has dealt. He smiles, I’m still dead.
Everyday I am an artist, an artist of emotion. I paint it and stick it on were a living persons’ mouth is supposed to be. I wonder what it feels like, being alive. How many others wonder as well? Too many.
