Awareness

Awareness


The realization of the illusion and the crack in the sterile reality.


Illusion

The walls breathe plaster and sterile light;

time is measured in doses and in blank screens;

no one asks where thoughts go when night falls;

the city sleeps under a digital quilt.


I wear my uniform like a second silicone skin;

my eyes only see green lines and markers;

truth is a complexity that disturbs;

we prefer the ease of an approved silence.


Somewhere here among the cables and signatures;

a man is erased with absolute technical precision;

without shouting, without tears, without unnecessary outbursts;

only the automatic pump that holds the formulas.


And I look at the floor that shines with bleach;

I thought life was more than graphs;

but the administration has foreseen every doubt we have;

They gave us tasks and took away our conscience.


Drainage

The hands advance with the precision of a clock;

the serum drips slowly, counting the seconds;

no one remembers what the outside world was like;

Here, breathing is simply a production output.


The screen shows rhythms that do not belong to a body;

are the numbers that please investors;

the beauty of statistical balance intoxicates us;

no one dares to touch the central cable.


The nurses move like shadows in a corridor;

Their footsteps never leave any footprints;

they are afraid of their own shadow and the slightest movement;

Obedience became their only religion and homeland.


And if it happens to rain outside in the white courtyard;

the windows are double-glazed and moisture does not get through;

they protected us from all natural suffering;

But they left us completely empty and motionless.


Purity

The cleanliness here is almost religious;

there is not a speck of dust in the corners;

everything is set according to protocol;

even dreams go through security checks.


Dr. Douka comes by every morning at exactly eight o'clock;

her perfume smells of an expensive and frozen future;

never looks at the patients' faces;

he only looks at the signs and the risers.


We bow our heads at her every step;

our hands are clean from doubts;

they taught us to execute without thinking;

After all, thinking is a dangerous luxury.


But this morning something cracked in the air;

a drop of water fell from the ceiling to the floor;

It was impure, its color was gray and earthy;

reminding us that the world is not plastic.


Automatic adjustment

The system self-adjusts with cold intelligence;

when the pressure drops, the gas rises;

When the pulse rises, the dose becomes heavier;

no one needs to make a decision alone.


The patient in the room is now an indication;

an Excel file that is constantly updated;

relatives no longer come on Sundays;

They learned that there is no turning back here.


I also clean the screen with a special cloth;

not even a fingerprint;

to make the numbers look clear and bright;

as an advertisement for technological superiority.


But inside me a dull sound is heard;

like a broken gear in an old mechanism;

it is the logic that resists forgetting;

and demands back what was silently stolen from us.