As long as I am nothing but a ghost of the civil dead, I can do nothing.

I am one of the crucified dead.

My eyes, my brain seek out escape routes wherever I am sent.

The other inmates stand in a long straight line, flanked by guards, and I am dragged past them. I do not respect them, because they will not run - will not try to escape.

I am happy to be alive, as long as I can paint.

I can, therefore I am.