BECOMING THE WITNESS by Timothy WilsonMy eyes are peeled
Torn back from the rind
A scientist stands over me
And forces me to follow moving lights
And loud noises
Even when I muster the strength
To pull the curtains down
Even when I am gifted with sleep
And my being inept as a vegetable vanishes
The images number like my reflection in my father’s mirrors
On and on
So I witness myself
Becoming the witness
Out of body
Can’t escape myself
Just the cold dead shell
Every clicking
Nanosecond of still frame
Life is played before me
And its damage is burned in the pixels
Of my screen
And the memory on my hard drive
10/07/2009 Posted on 10/07/2009 Copyright © 2025 Timothy Wilson
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