by Nick Gisburne
They tell her she was lucky just to live,
Sedated in a broken, shattered shell,
But how they saved her soul she can’t forgive.
The biggest blow that hits her is the smell.
These plastic bones, the artificial skin,
Were never part of life before the fall.
Her breathing doesn’t function, out or in,
And nothing here is normal now, at all.
“You’re not exactly human, not by law.
We had to make a complicated swap,
But sometime soon - a decade, maybe more -
We’ll put you in a body, not a prop.
We haven’t got the tools to make you walk,
But pull the ring behind your back to talk.”
