You grow-up with people
oohing and ahhing over you. And end
up with people leaving you
alone. That’s what it’s like in this

desolate home. Propped up
in chairs and beds in front of television
sets. Each face that I pass has a blank
expression. It’s as if they’re all waiting

around to die. They don’t have the
desire to even cry. Only apathetic looks
on their faces, as if they accepted what someone
has chosen for them. Someone else chooses

when they eat, what they eat, when they
bathe, what they wear – every little detail
just as if they were an infant again. Who knows
the lives that each one of them have lived. Who knows

the choices each one of them made before
they were waiting as prisoners to enter
their graves. Not one smile on anyone. Not one
sound of laughter or excitement.  They all look

like holocaust victims, sitting and
waiting for the end. Maybe if they’re lucky
someone visits them from the outside for a
short time. But it’s only a sad reminder

that there’s life outside these doors. It’s only
a bitter reminder that they no longer have
what they had before – their independence
their freedom. Is there any kind of life without that?