When did being alive become synonymous with being dead? If your body is filled with empty words and silent actions then who are you to say that you are living?
Every day is like the last it seems as if all the best ideas come from the past I try to reach across the divide but all I get is empty static moving through time.
I wrote this poem because our society seems to be so obsessed with dwindling life to its utter vapidness. At what point does being alive feel the same as being dead?