An artificial life is what I have, isolated in a hospital room.
I feed through a tube
and I breathe thanks to a machine.
I can feel their presence next to me,
they want me to wake up but it's impossible.
End this long agony,
disconnect the cables and let me go.
Much worse than being dead
is enduring this life without dignity.
I shouldn't have survived the accident,
we all should have died in the explosion.
If the atrophied muscles responded,
I would make them pay for what they have done to me.
They are years of suffering in vain,
wanting to die at every moment.
My hands will be like tongs,
I will press their necks with force.
I will enjoy his muffled screams
and the pain reflected in his eyes.
Revenge is a misunderstood pleasure:
I dream of their distorted faces,
their eyes protruding from their sockets,
the tongue tied in a knot in the mouth.
I will murder each one of them.
With each death I will return to life.
What pleasure I must feel!

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