• I

    What was yesterday
    Was it tomorrow
    Or was it his day
    I do not recall that day.
    That time.
    That moment.
    I recall his face...
    Or so I think.
    Was it covered in dirt?
    Were there bruises upon his palette?
    Maggots in his eyes?
    Bites on his ears?
    I am uncertain.
    Can I recall his voice,
    The last thing he said?
    Can I recall his actions,
    The last thing he did?
    What was it!
    Did he cry ?
    Did he laugh?
    I do not recall.
    Yet I do not wish to.
    It was grotesque...
    Or was it he?
    That fiendish smile.
    Those twisted fingers.
    It was all grotesque.
    Especially that hump,
    the one in his back
    His day came.
    It did indeed.
    Did I cry?
    I'm not sure.
    Did Anybody cry?
    I'm sure Somebody did.
    But why would they?
    Nobody loved this man.
    Nobody cared.
    So did Nobody cry?
    I don't know.

    II

    What is it about him,
    that sparks my interest
    What's in his wrinkled hand?
    Something he stole?
    Something given to him?
    Was it worth something?
    Did it cause his death?
    What was it!
    Do I dare open the hand?
    Do I dare to peek?
    Would I touch the hand before?
    Would I touch it now?
    What is this feeling.
    What has man done to me?
    What is causing my turmoil
    Why do I feel pressured?
    Why do I feel hatred,
    hatred for this dead beggar
    Is it his peace?
    Does that spark my jealousy?
    My hatred?
    What am I doing.
    Why is this corpse moving?
    Am I kicking him?
    Why?
    Why does my face feel hot?
    Are these tears?
    Why am I crying?
    How am I doing this?
    Why can't I control my body?
    Why can't I accept his peace?
    Why can't I just let him be?
    But,
    I must
    stop.
    Or I will perish,
    like he?