basemented   this liminal vivarium of cool moulded plastic
             with mirrors standing in for windows
and a ring of branded restaurants taking refuge at the edges
    all familiar     no surprises
the staff set up
         for the consumers morning
                      of slack mastication
      (Local chain, national, international)
  
the old-timers   glomming into clump
    benign zombies
an arrangement of fellas with dissolving jaws
  cudding over mammary notions
       untailored in sacky pallid sultana skins
    reform in a mumble
doing snailish pinball movements
            crossing and recrossing floors
         cleanly tiled for biohazard accidents
               salivating about the savoury soft foods to come

the restaurants rattle-shake-raise their security blinds

also noted
a mixed bag of people projecting
      into their smooth glowing slablets
    making out like worldly fools

also present
cropped and groomed toy security
      peering between the fronds of plastic foliage

offscreen
public bathrooms   the first struggling **** of the day

also present
a bench of  youngsters in bright blue screen matching pjs
  the four employees of sanitation
      drumming up for the shift

see also
vague happy lady in a  garish sarong
importing her holiday religion

Zombies are waddling toward their door.
Witches are cackling, black cats are scratching,
And the ghouls want brains and more.

But Brig and Ophelia aren’t scared yet,
They’re waiting inside,
Gobbling strange snacks while they hide.

It’s bugs they like to chew and gnaw;
And they love to eat their spiders raw,
Not fried with onions, like Granda;
Or served with broccoli, like Nana.

Not boiled with worms and creepy crawlers.
Ciaran eats those,
Not these crazed daughters.

Ophelia and Brig
Eat them raw,
Alive, not dead,
With wiggly legs and sharp jaws;
And wrapped up with mosquito heads
In white sticky spider webs.

They eat Black Widows soaked in goblin blood
And wicked witch’s poo;
Made from bats and rats and unschooled fools,
That witches eat to soften  stools.

They eat fat spiders
Floating in soup,
That slide and wiggle
Down their throat.

They eat them with their mouldy cheese,
Melted over wasps and bees.

The girls fork down spider stew,
They love the taste “Tres beaucoup.”

The gravy’s made from a mummy’s spit,
And sweat that drips from a ghoul’s armpit.

They like their spiders spread on bread,
A feast to feed the risen dead.

When their snack is finally done,
They’ll pick their teeth and scrape their tongues
For Daddy Long Legs they didn’t eat.
The long legs caught between their teeth.

They'll use those legs to weave a wreath,
To trick flies and bugs and lonely spiders
Into their hungry House of Horrors.

Don't move or make no noise.
They react to the sound.
This place was once a shopping mall,
now there's bodies all around.

Such dread!
they're searching with soulless eyes,
From sun up,until sundown!

Their broken wailing, unearthly cry.
"THE END IS NIGH!"
My picket sign once read.
I'm forced to lie here and play dead.
They search for the living-with no rest-
I'm alive because of putrid, rotting, flesh.

I dare not make a move.
in this food court.
this unholy mess.
I lie underneath defiled remains,
insides ripped out from their chest.
I dwell within these monster's nest.
Subsist beneath decaying stench of death.
It covers my scent well:
The undead react harshly
to how the living smell.

This new world-I can't tell,
Is this hell, or a fiendish fresh start?
Are they really so different?
I can't tell either world apart.
fear has always been a substance
Pumping through my old heart.
In those days I was ignored or-
they would notice,then shudder.
While folks that lived-well,
well: they ate one another.

I'd fall asleep by night.
under street lamps shivering, uncovered.
Lived my life as a ghost.
haunted those who walked by:
My picketsign.
My shaking fist.
"THE END IS NIGH!!!"
I was cast aside;I did not exist.
they refused to see me,
Notice me when i speak.
The world was a table
With no room for my seat.

Outside corner stores I'd sit with resentment.

I needed to be noticed.
Yet my efforts never got me closer
To being seen by any ONE of them:
An exquisite type of torture.

I see now so ironic, what i used to beg for:

Maybe zombies are ghosts...
that refuse to be ignored?

Maybe if that man in the store window
-he was standing next to a mannequin-
If he hadn't lost his balance...
I could've began again ...?
But that false life fell.
Futility in his attempt to flee:
They ripped out his throat
before he could even yell.
In the commotion a man with a minor creeps,
Crawling toward the exit,
for a stealthy retreat.
Oh yes! I do see it too.
There's a car parked outside,
its engine running right there in the street.

Six hundred and sixty feet.
Salvation has four wheels, power steering
and leather seats.
Something is shouting in my stomach.
Their opportunity.
Their window is closing to leave with no trace
Seconds stretch as I stand
I connect - making eyes with the man.
Him and the child hesitate.
out in the open, words aren't said,
but I can see his face deliberate.
Too late: they can't turn back.
How to sneak past that last zombie
without a face to face?
It shambles in the path of their escape.
They hide under a counter:

I think its better if that child left here safe.

See.
there is bodies, all around.
Bodies all around.
Bodies.  All.   Around.

Those dead bodies kept me a secret.
Kept me safe and sound.
It's my turn to be that for you.
I nod at the man.
Can you see me?
Witness.
Witness,what I'm about to do.

A rush.
Air fills my lungs.
All fear dissipates.
The four words I yell make the zombies irate.
  
                          " THE!!!

                             END!

                              IS.

                          NIGH!!!!!!!"

**** cretins are closing in;
My two friends sneak deftly by.

I see the man and child look back.
I pick up a baseball bat.
Safely on the street
they both wave goodbye.

                  The end is nigh.

Please notice me.

-

bury me living
for i am in a world of dead

where the zombified stumble around
looking for meaning

maybe it'll make more sense
six feet under
and down the river styx

tie me to a raft
and let me drift

far, from this meaningless charade
known as life

One day, we're gonna look back on this and say
Now why did we act like that? Why did we treat
Each other so poorly?

For now we see we acted like idiots
Only caring about ourselves and not each other...Forgetting our
Rights as Humans--- the most basic right---

And it's one we all share, we are all human,
Looking for kindness and peace. Be Kind and
Love one another! <3

Fear or hate.... Highs and
Lows..."The world has gone crazy and no one seems to listen"....
"Everything we built is coming down";
So..."No more
Hesitation, it's time we start to realize": We

Are in this together; "Are you standing with the crowd?"... "It's
Now or Never"...."This is a
Declaration of a new generation"...... "No, we won't

Break, we're more than flesh and bone"
One day, we're gotta realize than we are repeating history....
Now.... "History changes, but we lost the pages we wrote"...
Everyone right now, can stop repeating history as it starts with you.

       So will you just be part of the problem
                                 or
        Will you be part of a solution?

"With all this separation, silence is still taking sides
So use your voice, make a choice
And tell me, are you standing with the crowd?"

"History changes, but we  lost the pages we wrote
When you lose direction, can't see the reflection you know
We came from the bottom then became the problem
Now everything's out of control
So hey, are you with me? Let's go!"