Letter from the police officer to your corpse:
Opening my world to you,
Your heart in my hand
A breath, a smile
Deeply a cramp hurts,
You’re bending,
You’re safe. We’re safe.
All seems so long ago,
Nuts in their shells cracks to the ground
They break
A breach on them.
It opens up. Light.
A bright light surrounding the world and a melody playing in the background.
Yourself before becoming a corpse:
Breathes. Breathes. The battle is on. Your neck. His knee.
The crowd around is cheering. The arena is closing around you. You want to run. Not to fight.
A police officer is blocking your way. Swiftly you move to his left. One. Two. You are on the ground. You have no other choice than to stay still. He already decided the verdict. Dead or alive. No choice, no runaway.
You, all of YOU is in someone else’s hands. These palms are so deeply corrupted in their greediness of power that no pathos could help you out of this nightmare. You have lived whatever you wanted, for twenty-eight years. Now you have to pay for all the unearned happiness you experiences. This is to die. That brief instant in which you have no choice, no power, no more will. You let all your muscles and nerves leash. You leave all your hope, as entering Dante’s hell. You are nobody, no one as Ulysses.
And you damn all your ancestors, if only they would have a name, money, a different color on their skin. Now your swearing against yourself, you knew it from the beginning what you were up to. But here you are. On the ground, gasping for some air, with a police officer’s knee on your neck. And you know the reason.
Last deep breath. You were just a no one.