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What the hell is going on in their heads?

I wanna be a zombie
I wannabe a ghoul
I wanna paint my face white, don't wanna go to  school
it's a sing song tag along let's play deadmen and it's wrong.

There'll be enough time later on to waste away so please don't rush and try to beat the reaper to the push
I can't understand,
Zombies are abominations ,quite frankly they're not good at all
they walk abroad and..
..well I wouldn't really call it walking it's more like they're dragging lumps of wood instead of legs and deadpegs put into brown holes
and souls who can no longer see
except to see that they're not living just like me.

Why would you want to be like that?
A flatline in a deadmans hat it's 'not my bag'
call me old fashioned but I think I will lag behind
go through the grind of life
death's not for me
don't wannabe
a wannabe
Don't wanna be a zombie.
Norman Crane Sep 2020
Bodies jostle toward the heatsource,
Foot stomp, elbowed in the rib,
Muttering voices hoarse, exhale mists
That swirl like deadmen's ashes in the wind.
Pale lumina saturates the cinder skies,
Under which the aged remember
The suns of former lives,
Their memories the glowing solitary embers
Of a world we've left behind.
Ahead, a mother veils her babe with rags
From a passer-by's ravenous gaze.
A man automatously drags
A rattle-bag of assorted human remains,
Leaving trails in the dirt,
Leaving trails in the dirt.
We have splintered apart the frame
Of this landscape of hellpain,
Against smokestack sequoias and asphalt seas,
We stumble toward the crematoria.
My God, the coldness hurts!
As upon the canvas of this frozen Earth
We enact the terminus of human innovation,
The burning of every breath,
The engineered suicide of civilization.
Out, out, brief candle,
said Macbeth.
Into the cull chamber I step,
Hoping there at least I will find warmth,
In death.
I once dreamt

Of a child beneath a tree, in a field off the edge of a small farm.
Small farm that owned large landscapes, and passing by through the freeway were the sad broken horses. All the beasts of burden that were more burden than beast, and they dribbled blood from their noses and they limped when they strolled.

They passed in one lane, while the cars passed in another. Fast ferraris and hot wheel model look alikes. Breezing by barnyards and dead horses trying to live with blinders on the corners of their eyes.

This little boy sat resting under a large tree, filling his lungs with horse heaves. On the side of a road looking out across the fence that separated his land and his curiosity.

And I couldnt find myself in the dream, I was nowhere. Floating as a molecule of oxygen, painting the scenic ocean of grain and land, exhausted by the proud sun ray filling the eyes of a boy under a tree. And I continued to wonder how long the boy would sit. If he would stand and run and fly away in to the sunset, into the moon setting, before the land was dark and crisp in its perfect way.

Never once did I wonder why the moon was dissappearing with the fog of the sunlight. And why the stars would not shine here on these never ending hooves, on these tire treads bleeding steam into the air.

A leaf drifted onto the boys lap and i found myself, watching the sound of the wind pull moonlit tides of grass and grain towards the boy. The sunlight placed it's fingers on his tears and dried them, wiping them away.

It was then I saw, this boy was blind. My final moments as the leaf in the wind, falling by the side of a boy. Then falling on his shoulder, and i witnessed death through thousands of green soldiers, rustling through the static of the air and closing their eyes on the floor.

The horses still clopping out of tune. The cars not slowing down. It would be pitch black soon. And I'd come to realize this boy, through collective images of falling friends, drifting deadmen.  Like a puzzle, I saw, he was lost. And could not find his home. The sounds betrayed his ears, and the pitch black was not silent, as the last bit of light sunk away beyond the horizon.

He was here, in tattered rags, his eyes were blind and he could not hear past the road. The sun and moon would burn his tears away, but in the dark his eyes would water the roots, his skin would tear and become the bark. He could never go home, but he would always be needed.

My eyes closed in the dark, his eyes remained open all the time. Somehow, I found we were both lost.

I was the wind, and he was the earth.
Leila May 2015
thank god for this spring
I thought the cold had laid claim
to everything seasons bring
to who it is i became..
when I look back on things
what i see isn't the same
as I remember it seeming then
back when you knew my first name
that which you'll never know again
thank god the sun finally came
now-i only speak of you with amens
cause i wont let my sun shine in vain
down on ghosts and deadmen
who speak without having brains
and never know when
to take a break from the games
this truth feels like rays on my skin
so enjoy assigning blame
and talkin that same **** you've been
cause i'm on a whole nother plane
that you can't even see or comprehend
just know the truth will never change
no matter how hard you pretend
S I N Dec 2019
En garde, grim reaper, Thou art
No match for me; the shade from thine
Wings will not cover my sun; I will not
Succumb to the swath of thy honed scythe;
Thy bony fingers shall not clasp my heart
And rip it from my breast, crushing ribs
And tearing skin to flakes and *****; I will
Not be an addition to thy pendants in
Thy closet; my life is mine and no one
Else’s; I did not choose to come to this
World and now thou sayest that I am no
Master upon my demise either; abyssward
From whence thou crawlest every time I
Charge thee to betake and lurk there in
Fear every time I stride by lest thy Perdition
Desirest thou to find; corrugate and shrink
And be no more thou foul fiend and dwelt
In the most far and unattainable nooks of
Visible universe and beyond and further
To be a stain no more upon the surface of
Elysium; and dare not to come back for
Swear I on the graves of all befallen that
No more shall crumble and resident the soil
To be a feast for worms and maggots;
No more shall deadmen walk; no more
Shall nooses be tighten and edges sharpen; No more shall battlecries of
Chief-tans resonant through the air
By the reverberations amplifying only
More and corrupting everything that it touches;
No more I say nor evermore nor e’en
A hundred nor a thousand years hereafter
Shalt thou straddle thy stallion and ride
With thy kin leaving nothing ye-after but
Decadence and misery and gloom; no
More shall I be the slave to thy sway; no more
Shall thou reapest the spikes of the field
Of Mankind; so hence I banish thee and
Willing to vow to defy every siege thou
Mayest plot; for to defend those of
A-kin to me is my holy duty that I
Determine to accomplish despite all
Thy charges; so ready to prepare
Thyself, Angel of Death, and come
And get what thou deservest from
The hand that wields the flaming sword,
For thy own death shall the very last  be
Joshua Sisler Jan 2020
Men all inshroud in black grayongray funeral dress like the dead they have been asking you to sit down with them and YHWH with the soft gloomgleam of their how dark with excessive bright thy skirts appear threads woven hate betwixt HimI will not be cut so easy as we want and I wont embrace His softhardfirmness not so easily not yet too soon the sun sets insofar as it can below the leftover clouds of fast passing day and we all missed homebound trains in that distraction of the sunset circus setting skies alight with love softspokensilken fire orangedarkwithexceessbright red as hell and sin together those men inshroud and Him rise to mirror set suns O and the soft breathing beyond the trees behind the train just arrived of the sea the sea crimson sometimes like fire and the glorious sunsets and the evergreen everinlove pines behind the train yes I stand to take my starting after all the deadmen I love dont know and Him yes laughing towards home towards old streets of newness and all I we are left wanting HIm in holy union with my footsteps in the quicksand too thick to stand go on then figure out now what it is that you need You Ill step out for a minute to breathe nopleasedontleaveimsorry in air on fire with loveheat Ill love right true holy You please yes take me home to your motherfatherholyspirit so I will impress on them my love for a four letter word that disobeys all linguistic laws but will love me more than none more than any more than I view the wheel that is the world from the side and I see an I that is Him yes that is I yes that is We and my heart goes like mad and yes I reach out yes Ill make You HIm I will here now forever yes yes Yes.
inspired by the final chapter of Joyce's "Ulysses," in combination to a recent love of mine
Eric Dec 2019
I rule the night
Wicked dreams
And cheap wine makes me fine

I ride the desert plaine
All strung out to relieve my pain
Lost in black among deadmen screams

I am on my own with my liquor stained eyes
I am a ***** desperado
All shook up and ready to die

I am a man on the floor
And I am a ***** mess
I am the one to find on the rock
In a midday haze

Fuelled by dollar fire
I am likely to end in hell
Can't stand the other way
Like a night against a day

Don't need meds to get me down
Once I fell off the ground
I like my ***** little graveyard
To cuddle tenderly with my darkside

— The End —