A corpse stumbling through the rain asks,
"What is the purpose of this meaningless life?"
though unfortunately words are not heard,
the scream of his mind echoing in his thoughts.

Blackened blood smearing on frigid cold skin,
pondering what it was like to be human,
to be living productively in the present,
rather than a blurry state of nothing but living;
If you could call it that at all.

Shuffling across cracked pavement,
hopelessly looking for a feeling,
something not yet known, or remembered;
An internal struggle only seen as a groan,
unable to give much more detail,
a foggy expression within his faded eyes.

Weeds overflow into weathered buildings,
much like numbness has crawled across nerves,
signifying that nothing will get better,
nothing will get worse,
nothing is the best option;
Nothing is good.

Driven by nothing more than a need to go on,
to survive, thrive with what is to be had,
feeding off of the emotions of others,
trying to comprehend it all,
though as soon as a glimpse of it comes close enough to touch;
It vanishes,
like a flickering end scene of a movie once enjoyed.