Part 4: The Breathing Grave

Spending all my time laying on the bed,
It feels like I’m living in an enclosed castle
Seeing blood come out every time I cough,
I can’t deny that I’m just a breathing grave

Fruits of all sorts displayed on my table,
Only my eyes can manage to feed on them
My taste buds no longer functional,
I’m left with only four senses

My memory now an unredeemable treasure,
I can’t remember how I got into this state
My brains totally drenched in confusion,
My intuition wallow in despair

Being called ‘a man’ is only a title now
For I cannot do what other men do
Neither can I do what women do
Because I’m just a breathing grave

If I could walk, it would be better
Maybe I could be a moving grave
Unfortunately, I can’t walk or talk,
So I’m just a breathing grave.

— Bright Madziva

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