‘‘Plip plop plop’’ he says to you in desperation, but he’s already crossed the threshold through the doors of preception nothing on this side will ever make sense to him again, you pat him gently ‘‘I know… I know.’’
As he stands unresponsive you close your trunk and pull away. The tatters of his mind don’t even wonder if it was real or imagined. It matters not.
He seeks solice in drink and shortly thereafter narcotics, but no anesthetic suffices. Even unconsciousness provides no escape from the grip of that of which he should never have known.
‘‘Plip plop plop’’ he says to you in desperation, but he’s already crossed the threshold through the doors of preception nothing on this side will ever make sense to him again, you pat him gently ‘‘I know… I know.’’
As he stands unresponsive you close your trunk and pull away. The tatters of his mind don’t even wonder if it was real or imagined. It matters not.
He seeks solice in drink and shortly thereafter narcotics, but no anesthetic suffices. Even unconsciousness provides no escape from the grip of that of which he should never have known.
Perhaps not even death will.