There's a vacant space on the wall,
Void of the memories.
I couldn't bear to stare at it.

Is it more painful to look at something,
And it's not even there?

My life is a vacant space,
Torn apart by thieves and beggars.

It's white and meaningness,
Like the walls that hold me in.

How can I be afraid of something
That isn't even there?

Tis the day of walking dead
Zombie look at me
Look at me
Do I appear to be
Among the living
It may seem that way
Going about my business
Greeting the day
In a polite conversational way
If you look closely you will see
That I see
What I see
Means nothing to me
That I hear
What I hear
Means nothing to me
Such is the mind of the walking dead
Scooped out meaningness
A hollow and vacant cadaver
A brown paper wrapper
I gaze out the window
A little red bird, restfully
Perched on a chain link fence, then
What non-thought moves you  
Branch to unsteady branch
Are their other little red birds nearby
With which, with whom you can fly
Please tell me why
For I am lost to my flock
My concrete view is filtered
Through shades of green and gray
Is that gray with an e or an a
Never mind
While motion stills my mind
Cars of steel fly by
Framing the sill
Leaving thought things behind

Tis the day of the walking dead
The dead don’t try
They just die
And keep walking
Unshakable and unbreakable
Perhaps numbing death
Leaving behind
The unkind
Tendencies
Of one kind or another
Perhaps one of many
Perhaps painful
Perhaps slow and steady
A prayer and a song
You’re wrong
  
My breathing is shallow
Thoughts keep repeating themselves
Synaptic electric mantras
Chemical fueled and fused
Electra orchestra
Shades of Zarathustra

(ok, forget it
you don’t mean it
ok, you meant it
eat mush for breakfast every single day
day after boring day
eat mush today because
you ate mush yesterday
and the day before
and the day before
the day before
mush, mush, mush
such maudlin sentiments
stirred up my resentment
because
well I happen to love mush
you really must
will you please
save some mush
for me
because I happen to love mush
the way I do
and understand it
the way I do
and can’t stand it
the way I do
that your mush is not for me
and I’m seeing red
but it’s not a bird
and it’s not perched peacefully
on a fence)  

That you have made room for mush
Is so sweet
So sensible

For someone else
So, crybaby
You were somewhere in the woods
Crouched down
Behind yourself
Standing
I waved to yourself standing
To move
Then threw a ticking clock at your head
Crouching down
No symbolism intended

I meant it to hurt
And hope that it did
So you can be among the walking DEAD.
Then I woke up
So satisfied
What's wrong with me?

Life is so meaningness
Damp and awkward
Effort so senseless
Disappointment like clockwork
I wonder when it was
That I lost my Grit
Why the pieces refuse to fit
Is it payback for Deeds
Gone unpunished
Slaughter and Theft
Plundering through the *******
Of an unforgiving world yet we pay homage

New year! New me!
Sad, lonely.
Absence of opportunity.
Suffering; fill a sea.

Twenty twenty four.
Disappointment at the door.
All the things we've done before.
Life demanding more.

Another cycle around the sun.
Was it yesterday that I just begun?
All the toxins I let run.
A collection of parts without sum.

The year is... something?
I try but, can't care.
***** drop, angels got their wings?
Into the void I stare.

If there is something 'better'.
It clearly a'int for me.
Consigned to fetter.
All is as all will be.

Too broken to live, too sad to die.
I can't exit under the context of, 'why?'
Ego, fallacies, distractions contrived.
For a lack of meaningness supplied.