Â鶹´«Ã½

You put me in a straitjacket
saying I was waving my arms around too much.
You closed in tighter
saying I was breathing too loudly.
Now I'm not moving — and I'm not breathing.
But I can see you all the more clearly.
And I can sense your uneasiness mounting.
You roam around
Pace up and down
Keeping an eye on me
And thinking frantically
That you need to do something.
Something more effective.
But not too effective:
if you were to kill me
you'd cease to exist.
"But no other solution is presenting itself."

Maybe you'll have to live
with that feeling of unease
— my straitjacket presence reminding you
of the possibility of your death.
(When the straitjacket is no longer enough
to divert the subversion.)
... Afrodity Giannakis