Living Dead

Living Dead

The calendar flips faster

than the pages 

Of a Stephen King best seller

It’s a horror

waking up to the same 

Bricks and blocks

steel bunks

chains and locks

My mind screams

shakes the fences

Mule kicks the cage door. 

They don’t budge

Couldn’t care less

Foundation too deep

Tradition too strong

I’ve seen wounded minds


Creativity spill

And congeal

on the way to the infirmary

Treated with indifference

We pass away

In a way

Not quite dead

Neither alive


Shower shoes scrape and slide

through the blocks

bop, throw dice, turn cards

and get high.

Soulless eyes

thoughts as dark as night

visions of shooting it out

in broad daylight

Not for the thrill

But so the world can feel

what it is like

to cope with

living hopeless

Through oppression

and bad choices

We lost our voices

Can’t find our tears

Our hearts boohoo

But nobody hears.

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