Submission

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What do you call someone
with no self determination,
only a great capacity for
self-recrimination.
Swallowed by the sea,
is he accepted, this alien?
What do you call he who is dead
but breathes? An abomination?
Cyclical, he knows his thought process,
ups and downs, changes and retaliation.
The perfect porcelain mask to hide
the old scars, this self-mutilation.
Broken by the scaffold, he hangs,
himself by a thread he holds together.
In silence he drowns, their voices so loud
this painful immersion, his submission
their mission, without intermission,
no intervention, they aren't interested
in his health or well being, just his reflection
in that broken mirror, pole position.
He is fine as long as he sits straight, thinks straight
No matter how chaotic inside,
As long as they can claim his contrition.
Tie a bow around his neck and call his chain a blue ribbon.

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