For as long as I can remember, <br />my life has been something <br />inflicted upon me rather than <br />something I've chosen to live. <br /> <br />This room smells of sick animals. <br />I struggle to scratch hieroglyphs <br />expressing my hideous descent <br />into perceived sanity. <br /> <br />Down and down my heart goes, <br />wriggling out of a hole in <br />the sole of my left shoe. <br /> <br />I nod my head, clap my hands, <br />make a joyful noise. <br />I stare at the sun until my eyes <br />are cinders. <br /> <br />I can never claim the title <br />of victim until I identify exactly <br />what the victor has separated from me.<br /><br />David Kowalczyk<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/memories-of-pagan-gods/
