It started out inconspicuously,
inauspiciously,
a small pimple
on the lower left of his back,
something no one
would ever give a second glance.
It didn't even itch,
so demanded no instinctive scratching.
But
it grew
and grew,
developing into
a small cyst at first,
then into a larger and larger one
acquiring along the way the powers
of perception, cognition, speech, reason.
It became more and more dominant
in the running of his life 'til
there came a point
when he realised
he had become
the boil.
He now was the awkward,
ugly lump of shapeless,
useless flesh that needed
to be amputated
at the soonest possible opportunity;
discarded with other medical waste,
or better still,
pickled and preserved
for eternity as a freakish
anatomical occurrence--
a talking, reasoning pustule
that apparently possessed
all the features of a well-developed human being.
He clearly saw how all this time
he had deluded himself
into believing he was a real person
who deserved love,
companionship,
all the rights
every member of society should possess
whereas
he was just a cyst
that somehow grew,
assuming the proportions,
the attributes of a person.
