Ultimate Victim

Why am I here?

The whiskers on my face
contact the pillow
in a rythym that is not me

I am just sleeping
or in the borderlands of sleep.

None-the-less
there’s the rythym
scratch, silence
scratch, silence
scratch, silence
in perfect time.

What is this machine
that moves without me
without my thought
without my motivation
without my…

permission.

What is this machine
I am in?
How did I get here?

This machine of life
with no regard for me
or my choices
or my desires
or my creation.

This machine of life
with no regard for me.

Scratch, silence
Scratch, silence
Scratch, silence
go my whiskers
on the pillow
the pumps
working.

But who,
works the pump?

I did not ask to be here.
I did not say, go ahead.
I did not turn the key.

But alas,
I find myself here
in the machine
the ultimate victim
of life.

Scratch, silence
Scratch, silence
Scratch, silence.

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