tomshaggy.com

Is it for you? Or is it for me?  I ask myself every day.  I ask myself because I cannot talk.  You cannot hear me and cannot read my mind; therefore, we are unable to communicate.  You sat me here, in this prison cell of moveable metal and rubber.  I did not ask to be here.  I desired life yes, but life I could live on my own without your support.  I try to move my hands to single to you, but I cannot, I try to kick your leg, but mine is limp.  My smile slides of my face and you cannot see the joy I have for your love.  My spine, crooked like a politician holds my cheek to the pillow.  Is it for you? Or is it for me?  I see you there smiling and laughing with your friend.  Your arms and legs are stretched out as far as they can go.   Do not mock me anymore.

My only wish is to move out of this chair and smile at you one time.  To let you know that I am really in here.  Can you see me?  My eyes are open, but you do not see life.  Is the life in front of you valued enough?  The man in black passes by me and looks into my eyes.  He sees the person behind this decrepit shell of a man.  We shake hands as he turns back for a moment, but only in our minds.  He tells me he understands.

So if I ever had the ability to ask if this was for you or for me, what would it be?  Am I here because you knew I’d want to be alive like this, or because you couldn’t deal with letting me go from the start?