Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Keith J Collard Dec 2012
I still have flashbacks, horrifying and spectral: of conference meetings, projectors and efficiency meetings...corporate metrics, acronymic value cards that read like a Masonic Temple's pledge.. ...honesty, commitment, sacrifice, the dutiful worship of mercury and saltpeter; also customer satisfaction.
           Those flashbacks frequent my mind alot--especially when I am ramming my co-workers into the trash compactor with the blades of the fork truck. They say " ooooh" and " ahhhhh" as if they are getting a massage. They dull my blades with their dull heads.
          I have to ram them with the blades of the fork-trucks, or they will scramble out. They still say things like, " make sure that has a tag,".....and " wear your safety goggles," making chills run down my spine. I haven't put all the workers from the " Do-Wee depot" in the compactor only corporate cadavers and not zombies.
          But I have to forewarn, the zombies are not a threat, it is a few cadavers and the "consumers" that pose a threat to me and what I have built. The zombies are producers, even only if it is moans and putrefaction, but they are good sports, and my only friends.
         Some co-workers, who I was friends with before, I have spared from the compactor--owing mostly to that the part of their brain that was corporate, either fell out on the floor, or was gnawed on by a fellow zombie rendering them good sports and not cadavers.
        I use the building material section to chain them to their previous aisles. Jose, was my best friend, he was shaped like a slug, with a huge lower lip, and slicked back greasy hair, he always cheered me up, how busy it was and how slow he remained. Him and I worked together in the ' outside-lawn-and-garden' section. Even his zombie self has kept his lisp.
          I chain him to the outside lawn and garden section, where he likes to water the flowers. He lunges at me sometimes, but the chain is thick, and Jose is still a cool zombie.
Angry Joe is out there too. He is chained to the 'reach' truck. He is always mumbling about overtime.....or " Im not staying late."
         I have disabled the riding engine, so he just stands on it and runs the fork blades all the way up then all the way down, beeping the horn the whole while. He is the only one I kept, that has some vestige of corporacy in his brain, for the reason that he watches the back gate. The consumers are constantly probing this outside metal fence gate, and Joe has eaten all of them. Don't get me wrong, Joe can be a good sport, when he is not drooling about 'overtime' or ' I havn't took a lunch yet.' He can be quite funny.
          He banters with Ryan from inside 'lawn-and-garden' all the time. Ryan is alot younger, alittle younger than me. He has a mullet(what I call a mullet and he say's a hockey cut) and verily is--before he become a zombie-- the laziest person ever, and now that he is a zombie, well let's just say, I don't have to chain him anywhere, I know where to find him.....at the back gate smoking a ciqerette backwards with his mullet on fire or in the break room. He had the most squeeky voice when he was a human, but now odd fully enough, he sounds like Tom Jones.
         " You ate my cosumer Ryan," drools Angry Joe, " No I didn't Joe, you ate your own consumer," Ryan rejoins in his acapella voice ( I like hearing Ryan's deep zombie voice).
There are others, in the various departments of the Do-Wee Store, but this journal is to relate the first most pressing concern, two cadavers have escaped the compactor.
             The store manager Joyce and her minion(the assistant manager Damien) have escaped. They were ******* humans, and remained so in corporate cadaver form. They hide from me, as I plow through the aisles with the inside forklift. I have used wire from the fencing aisle to reinforce my forklifts. Sometimes a cadaver co-worker will jump out with a price gun, drooling " where is your spootterrrr...."( a safety regulation in the store).....I run them over with great gladness, but then wishing I heeded their advice of safety glasses."Splat."
            I have my theories, on how everyone turned to zombies. It started with over-ocurring routine, which my a.d.d could have been impervious to. But I couldn't have been the only one in the store with a.d.d? But that seems the case. The first day when I showed up to ' outside-lawn-and-garden' it took me six hours before I noticed everyone was zombies. I didn't notice they were zombies until I noticed them in good spirits.
               But the first day of the zombies, was concurrent with the rise of the consumers--ever more dangerous, greedy, and audacious are the consumers. They consume everything in their path, they consume good conversation, good manners, and replace with their mark, which is this....your life with the current moment is to be sacrificed to get them what they need to continue resuming their lives. They do not enjoy shopping, but enjoy holding you in place, consuming you and your values into their value, which has no value at all, since their mind has consigned the present moment that has you and not them, to a number that always has too much value, and they will bring you and it down while you are subject to time and they are not.  
             They turned my friends into prisoners of arbitrary time; and like putting a rabbit in a dank dark basement, with plenty of food and treats and space, it will slowly get diarrhea and die.  Everyday I marked the sunrise, and I would always pay thanks to it, no matter if I was on break or not.  The nine hour day could not ruin me, but my friends being ruined, that started to ruin me.
                       And that is what I believed started all this, nature has no room for two kingdoms of Consumers. So the producers(zombies) were created from the routine of being divested of life, and from nothing they came to produce: producing gases, vile ****** smiles, human  cannibalism, hearty conversation, practical jokes, moaning questions to the infinite sky.... they were created human again, given value, and most of all, I have my friends back, and they are happy again. But, the corporate cadavers that escaped the compactor , put my creation in risk, they look to let in the consumers again, they are up to something...
             But presently with the corporate cadavers gone, and the consumers held at bay, I have my Depot of Eden, I can grow anything, make anything, and soon will be able to ferment everything, especially fuel.   Now monday morning conferences that threaten you to pick it up because there are alot of people out there that want your job( iterated by the frizzy headed gangly Joyce) are replaced with 'zombie dance parties'.  
            " Zombies, what is the first rule of zombie dance party," they reply to me, " dohmp talk bout damp party," then we make a music video.  I let loose a couple of cat's in the break room, and presto, an agile cat make's flesh eating zombies look like Micheal Jackson.  Even I get busy with them, I feel so comfortable with them; dancing to Juvenile "back that *** up,".the best dancer gets to eat the cat...sure beat's listening Joyce's depressing morning pep talks about quotas while I am watching a bird outside the front glass trying to eat a dragonfly, " Keith you paying attention."  I just want to say, " No I am not you frizzy headed gangly walking skeleton key(she is skinnier than the gang of keys jingling on her belt)."    I will find her and put a roofing nail in her temple and her plans.
                The sound of zombies walking in here is music to my ears, like gypsys walking barefoot on a strawberry patch.  I don't know what that has to do with anything, but I like it, and don't care who knows.

            I fortified the outside of the store with everything within the store. I grew a garden, with all the fertilizers, and acids and alkilines of outside garden. I also use the garden chemicals to sprinkle on the brains of my co-worker zombies to change their acidity(almost like a hyrdrangea shrub). The purpose to get them somewhat coherent to play poker and darts in the breakroom. I figured out how to make explosives, with the nitrogen fertilizer and pool cleaning acid, well actually HeyZues did, he always eats both, and one day he moaned really loud  " BLOOOONDEEE " ( his nickname for me from The Good The Bad And The Ugly) and  gestured his expanding stomach, he blew up and gave me my first wound, he destroyed my dart board.   I took his head and posted it on the back loading dock, I know there are consumers trying to infiltrate when he sounds off with " BLOOONDEEEE..."  resounding through the whole store (almost like when he was a human).   I created another dartboard, I can create anything here, sometimes I think, that feeling is what........
                But the point of this journal is the two who escaped the trash compactor, Joyce and Damien. They haunted me before and haunt me still. When I leave to venture outside for gasoline for the generators(the only thing I need, not for long hopefully) they run amok. I will see new ' sale signs' in zombie penmanship, and I can see that they have hidden co-workers to have cadaver meetings, where they talk about ' customer satisfaction.'  I can sometimes hear keys jangle, it has to be Joyce, for the sound is to the cadence of her John Wayne walk, like she has been on horseback her whole life.
            Outside is very dangerous. There are many consumers out there.
                 I was outisde in the parking lot, where consumers still wallow around when a consumer asked "which product is better." I had to drop a cinder block pallet on him with the forklift; they are more adacious then my zombie co-workers. Even after a pallet of concrete is forklifted on them, they wave fliers with sale advertisments from underneath.
            Well, this particular trip, I returned inside and was startled by the loudspeaker, it was Damien's voice, the same as before, paging the hardware department. I jumped on the fast slim forklift to hunt for him. There are phone terminals everywhere, and he could be in the upper level offices. I saw Joyce's shape through the window once.
          They are up to something.
Everytime I ventured outside, the store became altered. I even saw a consumer waiting in line with the cashier machine now on. I sent the consumer to Angry Joe, who was due for a lunch break.
          There is a gap in my wire somewhere, I know it.
            I was at the gas station, getting propane and gas, when a consumer was scowling " where is the gas attendant, is everyone stupid or what?" while he was trying to figure out how to pump gas. I disabled the safety pumps, they do not shut off, and do not coincide with numbers, you hold the handle it pumps out as much as you need.
              He was pacing around like a little kid denied recess and suffering from sounds of frolic and kickball--dragging his feet due to the fact he had to pump his own gas, I heard a scraping metallic clicking noise. My eyes were caught by a bright glare on his shoe tread, I gripped my nail gun..... then he dropped the hose and walked back to his car with gasoline gushing as his wake. I saw what it was on his tread, I had no time to flee....it was a push button grill ignitor with the orange tint of a " Do-Wee" label on it......" ****."
              The last thing I registered was the consumer saying " ahhh don't touch me," apparently talking to flames. I woke up in a ditch, the big fork truck and my gas station destroyed.
I limped back to the " Do-Wee" store, and utter horror greeted my singed and surprised eyebrows.
              " Grand Re-Opening, 50% off everything." I squeezed the trigger of the nail gun, the nail harmlessly echoed off the parking pavement at which it was aimed. "They set me up at the gas station. "
               They had to do better than that to separate me from my zombies.

             I entered through the store in a nun-plussed state. I woke out of my unbelieving stupor with the sound of Jose's voice. " Welcome to Doooooo-Weeee....can I eat your...."
            "Jose it's me, who chained you to the entrance?"
         " Dammian, Keeeeeth, they are waiiiting....here's a newsletter...." --he smacked me across the face with the newsletter.
        " I don't want that ****.....' as I clutched the newspaper the loudspeaker went off in Dammians annoyingly over-polite and late-night-voice.
       " Attention shoooppers. all prices are feeeefty percent off, ask our associate Keeeeeth for a 80% discount, he is the skinny deleeecious looking kid with spicy skin, and a boston red sox hat on."
Hundreds of consumers pivoted their heads to my direction. " Hey, that kid has a Boston Yankees hat on."
         " Run Keeeth," zombie-lisped Jose.
           Fifty million imbecilic questions assailed me at once......" can I return this sprinkler for a jacuzzi.....can I get 120% off.....can you come to my house and fix my television for free"-- it was unabashed audacity, survial of the most annoying and repetitious; and the corporate cadavers have let this consuming flood in on me and my poor zombies.
           I needed to find my steed, my inside forklift. It was not where I left it near the entrance.            
        Surely they have sabotaged it. " the riding mowers," the thought uplifted my fading resolve. I darted past wallowing consumers before they could get my scent. I heard a consumer, " you obviously don't know what Im talking about," talking to zombie George, who was munching roofing nails.
         The consumer grabbed me, and said "here he is, this is Keith, he is wearing a Phoenix red sox cap"--panic bit into my brain, this consumers grip was implaccable. The grip that holds the steering wheel tightly driving nowhere fast, with anything in that interstice of commuting, not worthy of manners and the least of which being a friendly wave to 'go ahead.'
           They formed a wall of uttering stupidity, escape was cut off. They scratched at me, hissed, tore at my flesh and screamed demonistically in my ears. I caved and and called the hoard m'am and sir, they choked me, and loosened their grip only so I could tell them " Im sorry, sorry for your inconvenience, take my life and personality as tribute, take my imagination rendered prostrate by these sceptic corporate words that this mouth emits, betraying my personal form, the human element to this lifeless purposeless machine....destroy me, for finding the infinity between letters of corporate law and none between nature's laws......"
        I was almost unconscious, giving a speech to imagined hooded phantoms......" destroy me, for valuing friendship and imagination, and seeing infinity, in the shadow of a letter, eternity in the numeral of a number, and for defying the order to see things as others do....."...." destroy me, for seeing that people are unhappy and trying to uplift people for the sake of seeing them smile....destroy me, destroy my smirk, and add a lifeless smile to my corpse."
              I heard a horn, the riding floor mopper/buffer, it was Ryan, he commandeered the machine with precision-like drunkenness. He knocked down the consumers like twenty pin bowling. " What's up ***** cat," he possibly said, and I climbed to my feet.
         I walked to the riding mowers, and turned the key on the floor model. I sped the main aisle, with caresses of consumers that would be deep clawings at a slower speed. I dodged stupid question, and swerved from unabashed frugality. I turned up the tool aisle, grabbed a battery nail gun.
              " It says batteries are included, but are they included?" I answered with a 12 gauge nail, and resumed my course to the upper offices, that for too long looked down on me and my friends. I climbed the stairs and entered. The office was abuzz in corporate banalities. " Hello, this is Damian how may I help you.....oh helloooooo keeeeeth, one minute.......sir hold one second thaaaanx."
                I aimed the nail gun muzzle at his ugly overly polite mug." I finally found you, I will get the store back in shape Damian...."
          He cut me off, " no yoou woonn't, they are pouring in, we will meet our quota for the year...."
        " Me and my friends
There's strange noises round these parts
Tales of zombies too
Haunted cabins, ghostly sights
All sorts of witches brew

We all laugh when we hear stories
Stories that we know aren't true
There's a drink that folks all know
And it ain't called witches brew

There ain't no redneck zombies
That I guarantee
To make a redneck zombie
you need the recipe
A shot or two of good old jack
and a shot of grandpa's lightning
that's a redneck zombie son
Drink two and it gets frightening

moving lights out in the wood
strange visions on the beach
swamp gas, that's what I would say
redneck zombies....that's a reach

tourist folk see things a plenty
they believe all of our tales
like the one about that boy Ahab
going chasing that white whale

There ain't no redneck zombies
That I guarantee
To make a redneck zombie
you need the recipe
A shot or two of good old jack
and a shot of grandpa's lightning
that's a redneck zombie son
Drink two and it gets frightening


if there was such a thing as zombies
wandering round out here
i'd figure it was just my kin folk
after a case or two of beer

zombies like to eat folks brains
and tear them all apart
now to a redneck, that there's work
and rednecks aren't that smart

There ain't no redneck zombies
That I guarantee
To make a redneck zombie
you need the recipe
A shot or two of good old jack
and a shot of grandpa's lightning
that's a redneck zombie son
Drink two and it gets frightening
Benjamin James Dec 2012
people talk about the past like its still living
an annoying neighbor who insists on visiting
we go to the graves of our own mortal history
but instead of soil and stone
we're confronted by Zombies
Zombies of hurt, Zombies of pain
the ever living conundrum
of the past, as the walking dead

People live in the past like they've split the atom
a world within a world
a freedom they can't fathom
we go to the homes we left at sixteen
but instead of new occupance
we're alone with the Zombies -
Zombies of failure, Zombies of death
the ever living conundrum
of the pasts rotting flesh

People review the past and talk like its still news
yet its just a flicker of the mind the remnants of a fuse
we look over the lines like editors we read
in the hindsight we searth for truth
yet all we find are Zombies -
Zombies of hate, Zombies of love
the ever decaying conundrum
to the pasts resemblance to now.
Zombie Batman May 2014
Act 1: selfless devotion and stuff

I loved her, but she was a zombie.
So I put her safe in a cage.
I knew she loved me too.
Because she always tried to hug me.
Sometimes the cage was hard to reach.
I'm glad she loves to follow me.
She liked to escape from her cage.
But I'd always put her back.
She was sneaky and got into sneaky places.
I love her 'cuz of her mischief.

Act 2: lovers in a dangerous time

There were other zombies, too.
I didn't love them at all.
They were mean and got in my way.
But I was a lot smarter than them.
There were lots of other zombies.
Lucky I'm a real good jumper.
Sometimes I'd even find a gun.
Take that, other zombies.
If bullets ran out, I'd find another gun.
Nothing's going to keep me from my girl.

Act 3: "philosopher" isn't a career

The other zombies got really angry.
That was when it got pretty scary.
My love was stronger than my fear.
Zombies aren't really that bad anyway.
They always stopped when she was safe.
Maybe they're happy for our love.
I loved her, and she loved me.
But then, she was a zombie.
Could we be together?
I saw her standing there.
And then I was a zombie too.

And all the humans everywhere died.
But the guy and gal zombies were in love, so it's good.
To celebrate, they made delicious pancakes.
(Zombies can make pancakes).
                                               The End.
I wrote this off of a game from addictinggames.com
I liked playing the game. And the story was so adorable.
Sean Critchfield Aug 2011
Maybe. Maybe I said it. Maybe.
Maybe I said, “I love you.”
And maybe. Maybe. It was too soon.
And maybe you panicked or I panicked or we panicked.
And maybe we should have waited longer.
For a lunar eclipse to kiss and whisper it under.
Or at least at the top of a Ferris Wheel.
Even soft neon lights of a gas station before a road trip to say… Disneyland would do.
But maybe.
I didn’t wait. And I said it the first time it bubbled out of my chest like mercury and tried to force itself out of the corners of my eyes, shining like mirrors.
And  maybe we panicked.
And maybe you’ll decide to take some time.
And I’ll think it’s a good idea.
And you’ll get around to painting your bedroom walls blue.
And I’ll finally finish that replica of… Big Ben.. made from… toothpicks.. or some ****..
And you’ll get that job for that network.
And I’ll decide to be a carnie, because my feet have always felt so much better on the road.
And you’ll laugh.
Just maybe less…
Or not as hard..

And I’ll learn to roll cigarettes and run the Ferris wheel. And wind up with an eye patch from a freak dart accident in a pub in Scotland. And get sun leathered skin. And road earned muscles.

And I’ll master all the rigged midway games.

And you’ll have a better time in France than the last time and make it back to Greece to see the oracle. And learn to play the violin.

And I’ll develop a keen sense of when to pause the Ferris Wheel to leave the couple at the top just.. one.. moment.. longer..

Or at least secretly teach him how to throw the dime to win her the really big ******* Snoopy.

And I’ll wonder if you ever wake up and look for me.
And you’ll wake up sometimes and look for me.
And I for you.

And maybe I’ll get self absorbed and write the rest of this poem from my perspective.
But probably not.
And maybe one day I’ll go to the fortune teller to find out how you are. And where you are. And you won’t be far away. But I won’t want to intrude.

And then the fortune teller will tell me not to play the game where you knock the milk bottles over anymore because fortune tellers say weird **** like that sometimes..

And maybe I’ll listen..

And maybe I won’t.

Maybe one day, I’ll forget and teach the nerdy highschool kid how to beat the milk bottle game so he can get the frosted mirror with the cheesy rose and the word ‘LOVE’ in cursive for his girlfriend, because *******, sometimes you have to help the underdog  get the girl.

And maybe the gypsy will be right..

And those bottles.
At that moment.
Were some kind of cosmic key.

And as they topple over, all hell bust loose and pours violently out of the mouth of the bottles.

And demons flood into our world in waves.

(And if she kisses him at the top of the Ferris Wheel? Totally worth it.)

And in time, the world would have to notice.

What with the Leviathan coming out of the ocean and the dead rising from their graves and the four guys on horses and all the pesky locusts.

And did I mention the Zombies? And the vampires? And the Vampire Zombies?

And who would have thought that the adorable little fairies would be carnivorous and cannibals and just plain mean?

And maybe it would attract the attention of Aliens. And that U.F.O. you saw that one time in Texas. And maybe the U.F.O’s would attack and fight the Leviathan, which would be kind of bad ***.

And the zombies would fight the vampires and the vampires would fight the zombies and the Vampire Zombies would fight themselves and the Zombie Vampire survivors would find that they had a distinct taste for Soy.

And maybe us carnies would have enough experience with sledgehammers and haunted houses that we’d be rather good at fighting zombies. And I’d be particularly bad *** because of the eye patch and leathery skin and hand rolled cigarettes that I chew on more than smoke. And maybe I’d go lone wolf and ride a motorcycle. Which is also kind of bad *** and I’d do okay considering the apocalypse and all because honestly?

I’ve never been all that scared of ghosts and devils. And the UFOS are busy with the Leviathan and their really is only four of the horseman and we keep a professional distance just the same and the locusts and the fairies are at war, besides locusts don’t bother me, save for the noise.

And look..

I guess what I am really saying is this:

I think maybe I could survive.

And I think maybe I could rescue you.

And maybe we could fall in love.
my neighbors still slept
as the zombies crept through town
they awoke undead

mom threw a grenade
the zombie blew up, alas,
blood got in her mouth

gunning down zombies,
my arm was bitten. weeping,
i hacked it clean off

later i saw mom
dead-eyed, moaning, and ******
and slit my lone wrist

nora burned the stairs
zombies piled up beneath her
rotten hands grasping

nora stayed upstairs
after five days of terror
she starved to death there

dad was cleverest
he fled to the Atlantic
to escape by boat

wading through driftwood
he found a russian u-boat
full of gnarled corpses

not dead as they seemed
the kremlin zombies leapt up
and ate my dad's brains
Randy Johnson Oct 2019
When I say Zombies ate my neighbors, I'm not talking about a video game.
Zombies ate my neighbors and I'm one of the Zombies who is to blame.
Because my family and I are undead, it put us in very bad moods.
My family and I croaked because our neighbors poisoned our food.
A big corporation was going to pay top dollar for every house on the block.
But when my family and I refused to sell, the neighbors were angry and shocked.
I wouldn't sell the house that I've lived in since I was five.
And that is why my wife and kids and I did not survive.
Our neighbors had a barbecue and my family and I ate the food that they grilled.
But we wouldn't have touched the food if we had known that we would be killed.
My family and I have risen from the grave, we have green skin and are zombies.
When our neighbors saw us, they ****** their pants and cried for their mommies.
Our neighbors killed us because money was something they thought they'd gain.
When we had our homicidal neighbors for supper, we started with their brains.
Our greedy neighbors killed us and we returned the favor.
Stay away from my family and I because human flesh is what we savor.
Tommy Johnson Dec 2013
You can hear the voices of our peers being silenced, ignored, shunned and distorted.
Staggering out of their bedroom doorways to the street corner to score a dime bag.
Bright, insightful millennials freezing in search of warmth from something to believe in that will encourage them to look forward to see another day.
Where our economy has made financial prudence clear when talking about education, yet price tags of university tuition's skyrocket.
The refused, the ones with hope but no money or scholarships; tread the streets with the echoes of electro house pulsing in their skulls.
Those who strip themselves down and shred their own morals to scraps just to find themselves and to see their own limitations.
Searching for answers to the unknown, to ascertain what they are, who they are and why.
Timid in high school, pushed along with nothing and no one to put their creative vigor into.
The squeakiest wheels that were never even considered to be given a good greasing.
Faculties giving them lethargic hellos on the first day of school, bestowing celebrated goodbyes to them on graduation day, diplomas in hand.
Now are the ones slumped over in a lackadaisical position contemplating how they can afford an education.
They work eight to ten at seven twenty five an hour Monday to Friday; and weekends staying in as not to blow their earnings.
Those who commute to university and balance a job with it, I applaud you.
The bewilderment of adulthood, the overabundance of pressure and responsibility.
Awakened from nightmares of lost opportunities, missed trains and lost contacts.
To step out of bed and splash water onto a severely distressed face and staring into a mirror with a despairing look.
Then hoping a bus to Garfield to bring back weight for all the embryonic smokers not yet at the point of make or break, just save up enough to pave my own way.
Gazing at the town on a roof top, chugging down the tenth…no…twelfth beer of the night wondering how this all happened.
Wild sensations of kissing an attractive stranger, the rush of touching on things never felt, tasting pleasures only the lucky have known.
The passionate, yet dissolute yearning for that ever eluding ******* adrenaline. Pounding, Pounding, Pounding until the culmination of energy has come.
Flip sided to those dizzying, tear jerking thoughts of suicide, annihilation of ones being, the contradictions of their faith in themselves and the people around them.
Unexplainable waves of anxiety crashing onto the shore of a diminutive island of optimism
Striving to look past the panic, the gloominess and fury that may or may not be present. But to remain composed and press forward to what awaits them.
Coffee keeps them going. Cup after cup, late night cramming every bit they can; into their caffeine driven psyches until the indisputable crash and failure.
Packs and packs of menthol cigarettes to calm their rattling nerves but at the same time killing them slowly. Their lives will seem shorter than the time it took to finish one bogey when death is near.
Marijuana induced ventures to run down burger shacks, laughing hysterical in the car ride, eyes heavy with a most ridiculous elastic grin extending from ear to ear. While inside millions of thoughts and realizations of consciously simple speculations and troubles become clear and unproblematic. So the joy is mirrored outside in.
LSD trips in Petruska dancing and singing in the rain! Making music, making love; playing pretend and creating art. Becoming a family while kicking back under the warmth of an illuminated tree on a cool fall night.
MDMA streaming through the body, everything is as it should be
Beautiful, lovely to touch, wondrous to stroke, marvelous to move.
To contact and connect, converse and converge with the dwelling desire to share what you feel with everyone for it would be selfish and unpleasant to keep it in.
Mushrooms oh the emotional overflow I need not say more but ****.
Then there are over the counter candies, Oxycontin, ******, Adderall and Xanax, painkillers and antidepressants. Ups, downs, side ways and backwards.
Selling addiction and dependency legally to kids. Making heroine, ******* and speed easily obtainable to them. Changing the names and giving out prescriptions so the parents can feel like they're actually helping their children but are subconsciously making it easier on themselves because they cannot handle the way their offsprings actually are. Some parents a feel it is the only way, I wish it wasn't so. Becoming zombies, mindless addicts before they even start to mature into puberty. I've seen it, firsthand front row.
Oh, the monotonous, mundane rituals and agendas of our lives. School, work, sleep eat, the sluggish schedules and repetitions of yesterday's conversations and redundancy of itineraries we had plotted months prior.
Same people, the constant faces of boredom that groan in apathy and hold the fear of complacency.
We talk about how hum drum out lives have become and what we could to put some color in our world but don’t.
We speak of how unfair the system is but ultimately confuse ourselves and everyone else due to lack or organization and dedication so nothing is changed.
We speak of breath taking women we want to share ****** fantasies with but can’t even muster enough courage to send a trivial friend request.
Texting away for hours trying to court those who now occupy our minds and possess our hearts hoping they may allow us to acquire their attention and affection. Calling them only to receive futile dial tones and know we are being evaded.
Weeping on and on for seemingly endless time frames of a dilapidated relationship that was so strained that a miniscule breeze could cause it to collapse but still clinging to every memory as if they were vital hieroglyphics depicting your very essence.
Brilliant theories blurted out in a drunken stupor.
Ingenious hypothesis shrouded in marijuana smoked out room.
Remembrance of friends long gone.
The marines, the navy.
The casualties of drug addiction.
The conquerors or their afflictions.
The scholars.
The insane locked away on the flight deck never to be seen again.
Teenage mothers unsure of themselves, abandoned by their families for they believe that they brought fictional shame upon the family’s name. The fate of the child is unclear but the mother’s everlasting love shines through any obscurities in its way.
Dear mother of the new born winter’s moon may the aura of life protect you and your baby.
The father gone without a trace.
He will never know his daughter.
And it will haunt him forever.
Parents bringing up their kids with values and morals, The Holy Bible, mantras and meditation, the Holy Quran, The Bhagavad Gita, and Upanishads. Islamic anecdotes and Jewish parables.
The names all different
The message the same
The stories unlike
Goals equivalent
Faith
Kabala, Scientology and Wicca
Amish and Mormons
All separate paths that intertwine and runoff each other then pool into the plateau of eternal life.
But do we have faith in our country, our government?
They do not have faith in us. Cameras on every street corner, FBI agents stalking social media, recordings of our personal lives and police brutality. 4th amendment where have you gone?
We say farewell to Oresko the last veteran of the last great war. And revisit the Arab spring, Al-Assad’s soldiers opening fire on innocent protesters, one hundred fifteen thousand lay dead. Bin laden dead, Hussein hanged, Gaddafi receiving every ounce of his comeuppance. War, terrorism, the fear of being attacked or is it an excuse to secure our nation's investments across the sea? Throwing trillions of dollars to keep the ****** machine cranking away, taxes, pensions, credit scores, insurance and annuities all cogs in the convoluted contraptions plight.
My dear friend contemplates this every night laying in bed, fetal position; the anxiety if having to be a part of this.
Falling apart on the inside but on the outside, an Adonis, *******, Casanova wanna be. Who worshiped the almighty dollar, gripping it so tightly until it made change, drank until he had his fill falling face first into the snow. The guy who lead on legions of clueless girls wearing their hearts on their sleeves not knowing he had a girlfriend the entire time. Arranging secret meetings in hidden gardens, streaking into the early morning. Driving to Ewing in his yellow Mustang to woo a sado masochistic girl. The chains and whips do nothing to him he is already numbed by the thrill. Then he comes home, lays in bed until one, with no job and having people pay for his meals.
He knows what he does and who he is wrong. He recites and regurgitates excuses endlessly. He cries because he knows he is weak, he knows he must fix himself. I sit on the edge of myself with my fingers crossed hoping maybe, maybe he will set himself straight.
My chum who can talk his way out of any confrontation and into a woman’s *******. Multitudes of amorous affairs in backrooms, backseats, front rows of movies theaters. Selfish, boastful and ignorant, yet woman fling themselves at him like catapulted boulders over a medieval battle field just to say hello. These girls blind to see what going on, for their eyes were taken by low self esteem. A need to be accepted, to feel wanted even only for fifteen minutes. Poor self image, daddy issues, anorexic razor blade slicing sirens screaming on about counted calories and social status. Their uncontrollable mental breakdowns and emotional collapse. Their uncles who ***** them, their parents who split up and confusing their definition of love and loyalty for the rest of their lives. Broken homes, domestic abuse and raised voices, sending jolts of fright into the young girl’s fragile minds. I send my sorrows to you ladies, to see such beautiful creatures suffer then be used and thrown away with the ****** that was just ****** deep into their *****.
Then I see women and men of marvelous stature, romantic in the streets holding everyone and everything in high regards. Finding beauty in anything and anyone. Enjoying every second as if the rapture was over head eating exotic foods from unheard of countries and cultures. Bouncing to the sound of whimsical , reverb ricochets and sense stimulating music. Huffing inspiration to create something out of thin air. Dancing to retired jazz and swing albums as if no time had past since their conception. Wearing bold colors and patterns, thrifty leather shoes or suede.
Dawning pre-owned blazers because why spend hundreds of dollars on new clothes just to look good but feel uncomfortable with a hole in your pocket. Dressing up but dressing down, so class yet urban I love it, chinos, pea coats and flannels so simple but chic.
At night they go to underground dens, sweaty bodies, loud music and freedom. Expressive manifestations glowing fueled with MDMA and other substances to further their enjoyment of the dark glorious occasion. Kandi kids sporting colorful bracelets, not watches for time is of no concern to them, they have all eternity they know that.
Going to book stores, coffee shops just to have some peace of mind and a moment of silence to themselves so that can weave the tapestry of imaginative innovation. Writing their own versions of the same story, endless doors of perception, reading news papers and taking it with a grain of salt. Watching the news on TV with a hand full of salt. Searching for the real story so they can know if the world they all live in is actually safe.
She who made her own way breaking hearts, rolling blunts and making deals. The flower child of the modern age, left the rainy days in search of radiant sunshine, idealistic. Reality was subjective, purple dyed hair, multicolored sweater with sandals on her feet. A ten inch bowl with bud from California packed in tightly. Coming from Dumont to Bergenfeild then on to Philly to Mount Vernon. Off to Astoria and the Heights. Now to Sweden laying in the grassy plains below the mountains. Good for you my friend whom I have loved, may fortunes of unsullied joy come to you and all you meet.
Since you’ve left I have encountered drunken burly firemen just trying to have a good time. Pounding down Pabst Blue Ribbon as if it were water; as if it were good tasting beer. But heroes none the less.
EMT's, young eighteen years old high school graduates, saving lives reviving people who are a mere inch close to death.
Sport stars getting scholarships thanks to their superior skills and strength.
Striking beauty school students who are into making the people of this world a little bit more beautiful on the outside.
All these people, successful, doing things. Departing to their desired destinations. I see inside them, they carry baggage, loneliness and insecurities. I can feel their guilt slowing them down. All have their loads but it’s the way they carry them that shows who they really are. And to me their all gems.
Not far in Paterson I watch the junkies limping across busy winding street, perusing a severely needed fix. “Diesel!” they shout beneath flickering streetlights, asking for spare change and if bold enough a ride to some shady sketchy place. I give them a dollar and politely decline. They’ll die without it. Vomiting up bile and blood, twitches and shivers are all you feel when it’s not in you. They cannot stop, they need help. Why not help them instead of “assisting” those who are homosexual? Cleansing so they can be granted entry to the kingdom of God. Looking down on people who have found love and understanding and a deep attraction to others who just so happen to share alike genitals.
Narrow minded uproars about the spread of AIDS, nonsense! The puritanical onslaught of those who want nothing more than the rest of us, love. "Gay", "****", "******", "queer", how about "kind", "funny", "genuine human being"? The right to be married and divorced should be an option for everyone to enjoy. The strains and hardships of matrimony are yours if you want them. If you don’t agree don’t hate or harm just allow them to be peacefully. Same goes for anything for that matter, Jehovah's going door to door, Mormons from Burbank. New ideas are never a bad thing, they’re not a waste of time. On average you have about eighty years to mull over your options.
Some people don’t live long enough to do so, cancer is rampant, blood diseases, ****** diseases, natural disasters coming right out of left field and blindsiding the innocent bystanders of both hemispheres. Some go through life handicapped, autism is apparent these days. Schizophrenia, Asperburgers, ADD and ADHD. Some lose their golden memories of their many valuable years walking down Alzheimer's Lane, not being able to remember whatever transpired only a few moments ago but revisiting gold nuggets from from fifty-some-odd years ago with ease. Some go through life delusional or bipolar. Some can't even sleep at night but they still carry on. And if assistance is needed it is our job as a race to help our brothers and sisters, no one deserves to be excluded from the gala of life. Or be denied by society and pumped with brightly colored pills from doctors promising a cure but prescribing a crutch.
Finding solace in sincerity.
The serendipity of it all hasn’t been uncovered and that keeps me going.
“Radiate boundless love towards the entire world above, below and across. Unhindered without ill will without enmity.” Oh Buddha the truth as it ever was.
Who is he who keeps these thoughts from the conscious minds of the population?
Who is it that distracts us from the humbling beauty and overwhelming devastation of this place of existence we’re in?
It’s they who do under the table parlor trick behind our backs.
Those who broadcast mind numbing so called reality TV shows without an underlying value or meaning.
Those who produce music, proclaiming extravagance to be the end all be all gluttonous goal we all should aim to achieve.
And those who turn noble causes into money making scams and defile pure ideas.
And of course those who give false promises of easily obtained  bright futures, those who don’t care, those who steal, ****, curse, bad mouth and lie. But still manage to get elected into positions that more or less decide out fates. Monsters, demons, banshees howling inconsequential worries and leaving us deaf to hear the real issues.
The
Ron Sparks Jun 2015
I hate zombies
they are the infantile enemy
the foe against which there is
    no guilt
the essential
        human
questions of right of wrong
  of morality
never apply to the cerebellum-craving
undead.  It's us or them
   hunt or be hunted
   **** or be killed
they are enemies that fail to
      challenge
   our notions of what it is
   to be us
give me a werewolf any day
or rather - any moon
the tortured lycanthrope
   forces the protagonist to
choose to **** because
    unlike zombies
there's always
   a chance
   however small
   that a werewolf
can find
redemption
Ashleigh Kelco Oct 2012
Technological zombies,
faces buried in phones.
Laptops attached at the hip.
Imagination has run dry,
video games have become the creativity.
Stone-cold hearts replace love and compassion.
People hide behind their computer screens.
Alienated from society.
Superficial people forcing their way
into big businesses.
We are the mindless, thoughtless.
Social structures crumbling,
and hierarchy destroyed.
We are the technological zombies,
brains decimated by electric power.
SN Mrax Oct 2014
the zombie has opinions about nutrition
but lives off of tasty urban debris

the zombie is standing on the beach
whipped by grey
watching the waves roll in high

the zombie is on the computer again--
where nobody knows he's a zombie

the zombie seems to be listening but is looking at his phone

the zombie is not a joiner, so don't be uncool and ask
though he might join and then drop out, which just proves
joining was pointless in the first place

oh definitely the zombie likes to go down

the zombie bites the hand that feeds him

the zombie does not mind poison if it means saving money

the zombie is against bad things.

the zombie is not a sheep.

the zombie is dying of loneliness but can't ever seem to connect.

the zombie is spreading deserts
and drowning deltas.

the zombie is standing up for what's right, on facebook.

the zombie knows that *** is safer than alcohol
and it makes him safer

the zombie feels guilty sometimes but ultimately
not personally responsible.

the zombie is tired--not enough sleep, not enough brains.

the zombie doesn't need you,
he just wants you,
when he sees you.

ahem: the zombie wants you for your mind.

the zombie is free.

the zombie embodies Csikszentmihalyi's state of "Flow."

the zombie may have made you one of his kind,

you will never know because
zombies don't know they're
zombies.
Becca DeMateo Oct 2013
I'm runnin as fast as i can.
There comming
Where can i go?!
I scream help
The only sound i hear
is those snarles.
I find a safe place
with more people like me.

I am jewish you see.
I've been running and hidding
and now im about to die.
****** has turned his ****'s into zombies
what do i do where do i run?!
how did this happen?
How can he see this as fun?

I start to talk to the people around me.
They tell me they have a way out,
but they need a hero.
I step up to the plate,
and take the fame.
Truly I just wanted to save
me..

We are all running through a open field,
hidding behind trees.
Then i look behind me
a zombie as big
and as tall as the clouds.
"oh **** what now?!"
I step out in front
of that zombie and grunt,
he stops and stares at me.
I tell him to stop and follow me
he turns around and runs.

I can't believe it's true,
thoes zombies are afraid of jews.
So i come up with a plan
to bring down that man.

We have to find a way
to **** ******, okay?
He is giving a big speech.
We have to sneak up from behind,
send those zombies to do our crimes.
Now ****** will never die.
Thats until i pull out my gun
and put a end to his fun.
Now ******'s gone away.
This is a strange dream i had when i was pregnant. i always had zombies dreams, this is just one of the more memorable. read on, read strong :)
JustChloe Mar 2014
You have heard creepy stories about zombies right?
How the follow you and stock you at night
and how they attack at first sight
try to bring down anything of light
and thing truly living
like parasites
I know zombies
some of them use to be my friends
they were like me till they got bite
then they turned
they became like every other girl
I call them zombies
because they simply follow what others do
and live on trying to turn others
they steal
lie
eat
but they are hurting
you have to remeber that these zombies are still people
Unlike what the stories say they can be changed back
These real world zombies are fakers and thats a fact
my only question is do you believe that
because they are all around you
mostly at jobs or schools
on tvs
the internet
most people define them as cool
so they try to be zombies and let them selves be bit
then turn like the rest of it
and it happens to most
but not to all
there are some who refuse to fall
refuse to turn
refuse to be like everyone else
I'm a zombie fighter
I need your help
I need you to be original
and speak your mind
don't just flow with the tide
release that creative person inside
tell you ideas
and always ask why
we are zombie hunters
and we will fight
Lesley Feb 2017
Such dissatisfaction
For so little reason.
Much complaining & whining,
Crying & begging;
Pulling hair, tight fists
And gnashing teeth.
Consumer Zombies stagger
Into the Stop & Shop,
Shop & Go,
Buy More For Less-
Sale, Sale, Sale!
Salivating glands & bug eyes;
Our hands grab more than
Can possibly be seen.
Our skin stretches tight
As white elephants stampede.
Why can’t we all

Just Stop & think?
Take a drink of the cool morning
Air and buy in the sunrise?

*©  Lesley Wood
To hear reading:
https://soundcloud.com/lesleywood/consumer-zombies/s-B38rq
Down in the bayou where the mangroves grow
There's talk of black voodoo, like Marie Leveau
The Swamp Witch, is legend, she has magic so black
That those who have seen her, have never come back
There;s tales of the noises that come from the dark
Of werewolves and zombies as rough as the bark
The mangroves are sentinels, to where the magic resides
Where even a longboat has no room to glide
Bodies go missing from the graveyards most nights
And there's always a fog shading the fireflies lights
The Swamp Witch is ruler and Queen of this world
Where souls are all taken and spines can be curled
They say that she came here from Canadian lands
She was a metis they say, from the Western Tar Sands
A mystic by nature, a dark witch by blood
She lives deep in the swamp, protected by gators and mud
The gators respect her, they do as she bids
They keep watch on the waters, they're her reptillian kids
She keeps zombies as gendarmes, collecting bodies to turn
Just how black is her magic, no one can discern
The Swamp Witch is legend, she is as old as all time
The air in the bayou is as thick as the slime
The cajuns say voodoo is the core of her heart
They avoid fishing where the mangrove trees start
The Swamp Witch, a legend ? or is she truly the Queen
She's the Louisiana Witch, no one survives once she's seen.....
Mateuš Conrad Jul 2016
it's the 50th anniversary edition of william burrough's naked lunch, with the original cover, looking at all the annexes is like watching modern history with Russian annexing Crimea, anyway...

indeed the nature of addiction, i chose mine to
cure my insomnia - i *chose
mine -
the less nasty less mythical name for it is indeed
metabolism - any hard-craft alcoholic walks into
a bar - drunk ******* and egoistically gluttonous
idiots come out like giraffes - vomiting into
the gutters, more Marilyn Monroe moments
showing off knickers even without the metro gust -
you drink enough and watch people drinking
for the psychoactive ingredient for dis-inhibiting
effects (buttered up talk, smooth there, quasi
Don Juan wannabes) - as Burroughs said: PLAN
YOUR ADDICTION - become addicted if some other
weakness is beating you - amtitriptyline doesn't
work without alcohol to what's desired as the lullaby
effect prior to K.O. - don't measure up to a veteran,
he'll beat you with experience, given it works -
i can imagine why hallucinogenics aren't metabolically
affecting - too much implants concerning the
world beyond, and god, and the secret of the universe -
you can't get addicted to these things - because there's
the bad trip, and you're off the hook - no more spiritual
trips looking for answers - repetition of the everyday
kills it off like flicking off a light switch - but, years
after the Beat movement, the Beats really did underestimate
the addiction of marijuana - they thought it was
the ****** drunk... oddly enough marijuana is linked to
alcohol and ****** addiction, it too is metabolic -
i'm not a medical expert... but i have heard of stoners
and their munchies - anything relating to food,
to metabolism is included, marijuana is the middle-guy
between the standards and Disney -
you heard of being monged, right? marijuana is as addictive
as alcohol - originally a giggly drug, a conversation
starter - marijuana - ends up being
an Jason Segel and Ed Helms film Jeff, who lives at Home,
it's this uncontrollable effect that proper intentions of
marijuana have: supreme thoughtlessness - or
the present vogue concerning "mindfulness" -
Jeff basically overthought himself on the high - he didn't
detach himself from thinking, now he's paying the price -
he's making completely random associations -
and why do stoners always waste their time in front
of t.v. or television - marijuana is a purely auditory drug -
******* to the park, pretend to be a fake Buddha imitation
and create the void in yourself to make your mind
the M25 at 3 a.m. - but this innocence with the Beat
movement associating itself with marijuana is partly
why it was legalised - the government wants rejects and,
to be frank? retards - that's why they legalised it -
they knew with the munchies jokes that marijuana had
the same metabolic addiction components as alcohol and
***** - you're metabolic dude! once addiction sets in
you're no longer in control of brain-freeze - you didn't
think it up on the psychoactive Everest - when the nice
sensation was still there, marijuana realised you zombie much
later - all the in-jokes of stoner culture suddenly passed you,
simulation dementia ensued - i'm way past the psychoactive
asset of alcohol, no slurred speech, no nothing -
but i retain the psychoactive point of metabolising excess
alcohol: if i didn't, i would sleep! i wouldn't sleep!
don't get me wrong, i get the point that i can't really
experience the negatives of reaching the psychoactive purpose
of alcohol and ***** in a street or join the football hooligans -
and surgeons drink to calm the nerves and calm the hand -
but alcohol is more cool headed and less phantasmagorical
than ***** addiction, for one thing your palette improves -
you find the most boring tasks liberating -
but the nights are the real nights, esp. if slumped on the sofa
watching t.v., unless you don't have a backlog of un-watched
Versailles or Billions episodes, you really need to go for
a 4 mile walk and breath the air - then half-sleep for
about an 2 hours (because you have limited money and
sometimes you pass a day without Auburn Whitney) -
you become rigorous - the prime solipsism - no time for
girlfriends, doesn't matter, my genitals weren't mutilated
as a child, no one forced a ****-*******-marriage-ring
on my finger - i can actually enjoy addiction - i end up
eating one meal a day - of course my face looks candyfloss
puffed up - but my soul is partly helium pubescent -
alcohol addiction is not ***** addiction even both
are primes of metabolism takeovers - no hung-overs too,
no blackouts - no fake "i can't remember" stories
when something ****** up happened - and certainly no
innocent look at the fact that marijuana is also a metabolic
addiction - unless of course you limit psychic ingestion
(excluding music, music is great to arrive at thoughtlessness),
but as most stoners (the next alcoholics) prove,
garbage the mind with American Dad and then get hungry -
binge eat - the stomach can drag the brain right down
into the acid pit and fry it - zombies galore - you won't be
able to catch yourself stopping thinking, the stomach
will do that for you, and you'll enter the zombie apocalypse:
just like my neighbour - there's a rat-like ritual involved,
for example, most people get sleepy from marijuana -
so it's not an addiction standing at a bus stop
pretending to be waiting for a bus and smoking?
that's addiction - the metabolic Gargantua has already caught-up,
addiction is primarily a solitary affair - it just depends
what you do with it... i'd be ashamed with my alcoholism
if i didn't write poems - the counter-effect is that i feel
some sort of social-inclusion when the day finishes -
i feed the cats, write invoices for my father (40% of
18 - 35 year olds live with their parents, because all
the foreigners bought all the houses intended as: buy to let -
is my money going down my drain, or is this
a post-Freud Oedipus stigmata killing familial relations
altogether?), cook, clean the house once a week,
cut the cats' nail and brush them - and to counter
what i don't do? can you imagine listening to a symphony
with only violins playing? not so genius hearing that
sort of Hollywood story with only cameo characters speaking.
Harold r Hunt Sr Oct 2014
Waiting for the zombies
Here I stand in the middle of the graveyard.
Looking at all the tombstone. Waiting to see which one will open up tonight.
Will it be Jessie James or could it be Elvis Presley this very night?
Could it be a war hero or so one that I do not really know?
I stand here looking around just waiting and see if they come.
The thought of waiting for the zombies makes my blood run cold.
It's midnight I hear the sound of the old church bells.
There goes something pass the tombstones to the left.
no now to the right of me.
I feel the hot breath on the back of my neck.
Could it be a zombie that is there?
o nooo let me gooo....
I'm just waiting for the zombies sir not the pizza boy.
Robyn Dec 2012
Everyday I'm falling deeper
I stalk you like a creeper, creeper
Nothing can keep me away
EnderMen better stay away
I'll travel to the Nether for you
I'd **** the EnderDragon for you
I started with 10 hearts to spare
But now I couldn't really care
The only heart that's really crucial
Is the one I give to you
I've traveled deserts, plains, and seas
Fought cougars, Ghasts, and rotting zombies
I've looted desert temples and villiages
I am nothing but a pillagar
I'll love you until I'm very old
But its as hard to find you as a stronghold
I started with 10 hunger to spare
But now I couldn't really care
If you're hungry, I know what I'd do
I'd give all my food to you
Because I love you (Minecraft)
I really do
Better watch watcha do around the lab.
Dont let your hunch backed assistant play with chemicals.
Get your head out the coffin and your mother and law
off the slab.

For strange brew.
Can re animate old fiends.
And really mess with you.

One two three four.
You blink and from the grave rises more.
Yes your new discovery wont get your fellow mad
scientest clappin.
they just eat my neighbors oh well you reply.
Zombies happen.

They called out the national  gaurd seems ive created a mess.
People screaming what shall we do?
well run would be a good guess.

His worm filled mouth is open and i dont think
mr zombie wants a kiss.
people sreaming and running in terror shopping at
walmart has never been like this.

Uncle Walter after only seventy years its wonderful
thoose skeletal toes a tappin.
It's become wide spread so I must say.
My bad ya'll but zombies happen.
Hannah Southard Sep 2012
Slowly,
we are all going insane,
slowly, but surely, we are all slipping down the same path,
some pushed to the brink sooner than others,
some farther behind.
We all trudge towards our doom,
funneled and guided to the right area
by the hands of our society.

The end has been predicted many times,
in different ways, by different people:
many a stray asteroid has been foretold,
one that will sink it's rocky teeth into the earth,
and make it explode.

It seems like the end may finally be coming,
people have been pushed so far, that they have cracked.
Their minds have broken,
their thoughts have jumbled,
they don't know who they are.

They are zombies,
literally and figuratively.
Zombies.
The ones who have been consumed by society
and spit back out again,
forced to live in a world that they want no part of,
so they attack,
and,
much like the zombies from storybooks,
they have this strange appetite,
that is full of a thirst for others.

These people care not for the world,
or their own bodies even,
no, they don't care.
They rip themselves apart,
tear into their own flesh,
and escape reality,
finally,
after succumbing to their fate.

The world,
pushed against unseen boundaries,
forced to the brink of insanity,
has finally spilled over,
and now,
we must fight the zombies
inside ourselves.
SøułSurvivør Jul 2015
---

A zombie and a troll
Squared off one fateful night
All the ghouls and goblins watched
Expecting quite a fight!

But much to their surprise
The troll was quick dispatched!
He was dumb, and so outdone
He had met his match!

He WAS good at deception
But now the zombie reigns!
Altho he's in a fit of pique

The dead troll *had no BRAINS!!!
Zombies love to eat brains I guess.

Based on a poem written by
Wolf Spirit about trolls being
Zombies. He could actually be
correct. Zombies are always
searching for their
BBRRAAAIIINNSS!!!
RILEY Oct 2012
Tell the voices in your head
To form a picture of me instead
Remind yourself of who we were, remember how much tears you've shed
And although those feelings inside you are dead
As long as you loved me, I could silence all what they said
Free your insecurities and circumventing acts
Try not to be fooled by people's opinions and start learning to accept the facts
We live in a world of segregation
Molestation
Racism and human spring deforestation
We fight beasts, beasts of our conscious, and we claim our prize
We **** zombies, zombies of our morality no matter what size
We strangle dragons, dragons of laws that no one abides
And you come to me afraid…
Why do you come to me afraid…?
So you want... to get a degree
Why?
Let me tell you what society will tell you:
Increases your chances of getting a job,
Provides you an opportunity to be successful,
Be a lot less stressful,
Education is the key.

Now let me tell you something your parents will tell you:
Make me proud,
Increases your chances of getting a job,
Provides you an opportunity to be successful,
Your life will be a lot less stressful,
Education is the key.

Now let's look at the statistics,
Steve Jobs - net worth seven billion R.I.P,
Richard Branson - net worth four point two billion,
Oprah Winfrey - two point seven billion,
Mark Zuckerberg, Henry Ford, Steven Spielberg, Bill Gates
Now here comes the Coup de grâce,
Looking at these individuals, what's your conclusion?
Neither of them in being successful,
Ever graduated from a higher learning institution.

Now some of you may be like,
Money is only the medium by which we measure worldly success,
And some of you even have the nerve to say
"I don't do it for the money."
So what you studying for?
To work for a charity?
Need more clarity?

Let's look at the statistics:
Jesus,
Muhammed,
Socrates,
Malcolm X,
Mother Teresa,
Spielberg,
Shakespeare,
Beethoven,
Jesse Owens,
Muhammad Ali,
Sean Carter,
Michael Jeffrey Jordan,
Michael Joseph Jackson.
Were either of these people unsuccessful... or... uneducated?

All I'm saying is that,
If there was a family tree hard work and education would be related,
But school would probably be a distant cousin,
Because if education is the key,
School is the lock,
Because it rarely ever develops your mind to the point where it can perceive red as green and continue to go when someone else said stop.
Because as long as you follow the rules and pass exams your cool,
But are you aware that examiners have a checklist,
And if your answer is something outside the box then the automatic response is a cross,
And then they claim that school expands your horizons and your visions,
Well tell that to Malcolm X who dropped out of school and is world renowned for what he learn in a prison.

Proverbs 17:16
It does a fool no good to spend money on an education,
Why?
Because he has no common sense.
George Bush. Need I say more?
Education is about inspiring one's mind,
Not just filling their head,
And take this from me because I'm an 'Educated' man myself,
Who only came to this realization after countless nights in the library,
With a can of red bull keeping me awake till morning,
Another can in the morning,
Falling asleep between piles of books that probably equates to the same amount I spent on my rent,
Memorize equations, facts and dates,
Write down to the letter,
Half of which I would never remember,
And half of which I would forget straight after the exam,
Before the start of the next semester,
Asking anyone if they had notes for the last lecture.
I often found myself running to class,
Just so I could find a spot on which I could rest my head and just sleep without making a scene,
Ironic because that's the only time I ever spent in university chasing my dreams.
And then after nights with a dead-mind,
I'd den find myself in a queue of half-awake students, zombies,
Waiting to hand in an assignment,
Maybe that's why they call it a deadline.
And then after three years of mental suppression,
And frustration,
My "Proud Mother" didn't even turn up to my graduation.

Now, I'm not saying that school is evil and there's nothing to gain,
All I'm saying is: understand your motives and re-assess your aims,
If you want a job working for someone else then help yourself,
But then that would be a contradiction because you wouldn't really be helping yourself,
You'd be helping somebody else,
There's a saying that is: if you don't build your dreams, someone else will hire you to help build theirs.

Redefine how you view education,
Understand it's true meaning,
Education is not just about regurgitating facts from a book,
Or someone else's opinion on a subject to pass an exam,
Look at it.
Picasso was educated at creating art,
Shakespeare was educated in the art of all that was written
Unknown
Rangzona Mar 2012
Zombies they approach 
to bad we can't be friends 
This was my last thought
As I load my gun

This will be a blood bath
And I may never survive 
I am the last, destined to die by hand I used to curest
I see her in the mob 
Slowly approaching 
Why rush I was doomed 
I know it and so did they

I faught for 7 years 
And this is my end
I am the last to see thair loved ones
I wounder how they will live with out me
I guess the same if I was the one that was victorious 
"**** this I yell"
 as the zombies began to in case me
I was never the one who seeked the crowed 
All wayse the loner
Dreaming for this day 
Not hoping just knowing it will come to pass

My end will be beautiful 
I cocked my gun
Knowing I wount need it but just liked the ilosen of my finally
Being of a gun fight,

We planed this
Me and the once people who surround me
All hopping it will never come
But non believed it was unnesary 

They was in place 
The shells all in place 
I slipped the wire under my feat
And even though I could not see the liquid I know 
It hit its home
Zombies cried in rage
Canines thrusted into the air
Trying to cut the air 
And I laughted 

****** was my favorite was my favorite wepen 
I glanced above my head to see the net
Filed with liquid hell
It amused me that all the years I threaten to rain
Hell on my enimeyes 
I get to do it

I hit the swich in my poket 
I herd the flames hit the net 
It will take 2 minutes for the flames
To meet the c4 
But the zombies had a different plan
They rushed me 
And all I did was take two steps backwards
And the mine wint of without a hitch

I lust a leg but that was enught distraction
C4 inighted and turned the night alive 
I had made my last day of life
Hell
And I smile
The end is now
I closed my eyes
And waited 
For my firy demise 
To welcome me
The scene was utter madness the good long fell to the boring and bland ***** that now I write apon.
Old faces had long since been replaced by these like button zombies.
Hey commenting is hard I could hear them amoungsnt all the other voices in my head.

And here I thought everyone had a opinion just like a *******.
The zombies were at the door my trusty Pub the one true place i could talk **** about the sites owner without getting banned and taken out back while being tortured having to read the darksides blog for hours listening to Yanni and Justin Bieber.
Good lord man its like starbucks and twatter   had a ******* baby and called it Hello.

My fellow comrades had long since left for higher ground or the nut house really finger painting and graham crackers are so overrated.
Trust me I know cause i have alot of crazy friends who told me so.
Im kidding its cause im ******* nuts  just when im off my meds that is did anyone hear that?

The like zombies just kept pushing that ******* button.
I mean really if it was a free drinks or a ******* button id get it folks.
Hell id probaly have corpral tunnel by now  duh that would kick ***.

Comments had fallen to the evil zombie button of doom.
And no matter were I turned I couldnt get away from it.
This write has fifteen comments.
No the **** it doesnt there ******* likes yes much like ****** the **** was spreading faster than
clap in ******* not that id know.

I couldnt take it any longer moving at the breakneck speed of drunken hampster who cant stay in the wheel
I was off.
To the land of no return the offices of the website inwhich ive annoyed the ***** outta for way to many years
no not facebook  I only go there to read **** that no one could give a **** less about.

Tina just eat a steak mmmm.
******* fasinating Tina!

Taking a long walk okay drive cause walking really screws with my drinking.
I made my way through the land of no return no not Canada.
To the center  of mount who gives a *****.
It was there at the gates of the mighty lair of the dark lord I stood flask in side pocket
The doors opened and as i walked in the empty room I was met by a huge flat screen
hmm must be where the staff watches **** or animal planet thoose animals are
total freaks.

But enough with the foreplay children.

A face appeared apon the screen.
So I see you've finally shown Gonzo   how dare you enter the fortress of the dark lord.
Well ya know the dark lord really needs some security I mean really who the hell keeps there fortress next to a bed bath and beyond?

Look you crazy ******* the anger hampster said .
They have some really great stuff oils and canddles  why me and my other half love it.
Hey did you all meet on a trip in the mountians where you were herding sheep.
Dam you Broke Back Mountian now  my wife really wonders what im up to on my fishing trips.
Thanks for ruining it for all of us.

Well Gonzo you may have  found my hidden fortress but never will you leave.
Yeah I will.
You cant!
Oh Yes I can !
Oh no you wont!
Yeah I will!
We continued this argument for what seemed like ages then finally after a canadian popstars ***** finally dropped it ended.
Duh I do have a life after all people.
Yeah I know but ****** I could if i wanted to.

So just  how do you expect to leave my frotress of doom.
Duh ******* through the front door.
You cant its locked .
Hey like i cant get outta places i dont belong  look i got outta rehab  no no no.
Talk about a ****** party  its almost as bad as my spelling yeah sometimes jokes hurt.

But I do gotta ask lord ***** for brains how do ya get all thoose likes
I mean people used to comment there arses off even me sure i cant remember what i said
but hell i was under the influence I know shocking right?

Okay you drunken ******* I'll let you know witness my geinus!
With that the dark lords fishing buddy  pulled back a curtan to reveil  a room full of
cracked out cyber monkeys all sitting in front of like buttons .
With every push theyd get yet another hit of some sort of fruit duh like monkeys like drugs
yeah you think being they throw there **** around and all but really there just mean ******.

Mr pickles just did a thousand likes.
****** someone needs to stop the insanity.
The evil dark lord laughed like a sinister women does usally when i mention ***.
I swear no wonder I use esscorts im kidding there just regular hookers.

And now Gonzo I reveil to you your own like button.
There at a small desk with my name written apon the table in what couldnt be magic marker dam little monkeys
they love to write **** or with it at least hay whatever floats your boat or tree im just saying.

Mr pickels  pushed the button on my desk a little slot opened up
and a ice cold beer and wild turkey chaser appeared .
******* kick ***  I mean how terrible.

The dark lord slash ****** with a heart of gold laughed his sinister laugh the monkey jumped up and down and played with thenselves  while listening to there God Justin Bieber.

Was All hope lost?
Will Gonzo a infamouse party hampster be able to turn down a free drink?

Will the dark lord win in his battle to **** the site and raise the money for his *** change?
Will MR Pickels finally finish his novel titled No **** A Life story written in all organic ink.

Will Justin Bieber finally fly into the side of a mountain!

Tune in next time hampsters to the shocking finally  Gonzo And The Like Button Of Doom.

Yeah it really ***** when ya dont get a happy ending just ask John Travolta.

Till next time hampsters stay crazy
Allen Wilbert Oct 2013
Zombies Or Rabies

Walking around one afternoon,
foaming at the mouth, like a rabid raccoon.
Was I bitten by a dog,
I couldn't tell through the fog.
Is Cujo on the loose,
with a possum, I tried to ******.
Walking sideways to the local clinic,
people are laughing, thinking it's a gimmick.
Feeling like a poisoned zombie,
starting to cry and wanting my mommy.
Cars are trying to run me over,
I'm playing Frogger and red rover.
At the point, where I can't even speak,
I am way up on ****'s creek.
This might happen to you if you're bit,
sure wish I had a survival kit.
I feel the need to feed on flesh,
it tastes so good and so fresh.
Blood is dripping down my face,
Walmart seemed like the right place.
No one cares about rednecks and minorities,
I may have rabies, but I still have my priorities.
Old people and fat ones too,
what other kind of people are better to chew.
Am I a zombie or severely rabid,
whatever it is it's spreading so rapid.
People I've killed are starting to rise,
it's Halloween, so we need no disguise.
Inside Walmart is the walking dead,
old women with no teeth are giving me head.
All the doors got bolted shut,
a crowded Walmart is doing the zombie strut.
The military has surrounded the store,
foaming at the mouth, is so worth dying for.
Can hear the jets as they fly by,
their about to bomb Walmart, till we all die.
I escaped through a secret trap door,
I'm about to go on a feeding frenzy tour.
Jon Tobias Oct 2012
Part 1
"How about some long beautiful hair" the Santa says
The little girl rubs her head bald and veiny
She looks like a baseball

"No. It doesn't get in my eyes anymore when I play basketball" she says

The bunch of us
Sunken eyed and balding
In wheelchairs and on crutches
Some of us holding our I.V. stands for support

I can only imagine how the Santa feels
The tiniest zombies
All waiting for a turn

Me
I have silver caps on my top front teeth
And dentures
Look like an old Cadillac
Insides all rust and rumble

We all want to know if we were good this year

Part 2
Cut to the bunch of us
Watching the Blue Angels air show

All getting pictures with a man dressed as Shamu
He is supposed to write something on the backs of all the pictures

I try to imagine
What you could possibly write
To a group of kids that looked like us

Each photo
In shaky black ink
Because whales aren’t prehensile

He writes
I love you

Part3
When the circus came to the hospital
We all gathered on a balcony
The news was there

Clowns painted our faces

I asked if they had room for me
Told them I could be like that guy
From the 007 movies
With the silver teeth that could bite really big stuff

They said I might miss my folks
I told them I wouldn’t
Then took off my gown
To show them my scars

They weren’t impressed

Ever since I’ve wanted to join the circus

Part 4
Despite our qualifications
We could not join the circus

But that is okay
All we wanted really
Was to know if we were good
And that somebody loved us

We were
And somebody did
Mateuš Conrad Apr 2019
.i'm "sorry"... in a muslim society i'd be asked to only read one book, by a camel jockey by the name of muhammad, one camel jockey... 72 virgni experienced, that's worth celebration? you ever 2 walk into about 9 prostitutes giving you the "eye"?! 72 rottweilers: that would be fun! you know why i stopped liking western societies? they started to become very much islamic... in islam you have one man, and his one book: bibliothekvoneinbuch... the mantra speaks: i am expected to angst diese mann... what hope if western society? they also have their: einvereinheitlichendbuch... what is the quran to neunzehn-achtzig-vier?! weltlichblaupausen: secular blueprints... 1984... another ******* mantra... akin to the quran... secular: weltlichblödsinn! how many books does it take to create an islamic, or a western secular society? apparently! the ratio 1 / 1 (one to one)... the quran / 1984... *******... i'm not even bothered by the politico youtube commentators being censored... they only read one secular book... i don't like the sort of minds associated with only one book, these pretend not to be, but being, pseudo-muslims... wow! what worth of choice! either the quran, or 1984! spaghetti tangled junkies can have their way... sorry... what speech is there to be worth defending? i don't like either the quran, or the secular bible of 1984... zombies... either side of the "argument"...  i honestly hate the sort of people that only allow themselves 1984 commentary... one culturally relevant book they ever read, and it seems: the only book they ever read: or will read... (red / reed)... so it seems... the world pivots on only three books being digested by the general public... the bible, the quran, 1984... i've read too many books to have to succumb to this "cool" secular narrative of modern prophesy.. let's see english, a language, at its most flamboyant! british grenadiers' fife & drum... the sort of english not ready to invite immigrants! 1984 commentator zombies... **** me... **** unius libri... hardly an islamic quote, e when attributed to st. thomas aquinas... oh i'm shaking at the knees! as far as i am concerned muhammad is rolling in his grave when the arabs "discovered" oil... as is Khadija, rolling in her grave, scolding muhammad... i should attain the **** unius libri fear... but then i find... religion... predated the scientific concept of cloning... muslims were cloned, cognitively... obviously not physically... antithesis of dialectics... cloned... mind-bribes... i should fear a man with only one book, esp. if he wrote it himself... but then again, i fear that sort of man for all the wrong reasons... such company... eh... when looking up to someone akin to king ecgberht... yeah... i fear a man with only one book... what boring company they must have and must be.

completely: unpalatable...
   there's funny,
there's a punchline...
but then...
       "****" just becomes annoying...
i have learned that
the anglo-ßaß sense of humour
is fine...
          until it becomes excessive...
then...
well...
        then it becomes annoying...
really... annoying...
not, akin to, something,
i'd welcome to match:
host-it
    (samnaðr-den)
          ᛋᚨᛗᚾᚨᚦᚱ ᛞᛖᚾ
to account for a selb
                      (self)...

or
           minn thungr hjarta
            ᛗᛁᚾᚾ ᚦᚢᚾᚷᚱ ᚻᛅᚨᚱᛏᚨ
                     (my ... heart)...

i'm not english, but i do understand
extending the notion
of black humour...
up to, and including the point
of cutting-off
this strain of wit,
of intelligence
playing baron of status...
for the little man of
ridicule,
            i don't like overtly
intelligent comedy,
but the anglo-ßaß have pushed
have pushed the wrong buttons,
at the right time,
english comedy cannot achieve
a rekindled status
of being export material,
it has, devolved,
into a geographic idiosyncrasy...
i live in england,
and even i,
am not in on the "insider's"
take on a joke...

                    if i don't understand it,
you won't understand it...
           it's funny when it's plain
dumb, of slacking the intelligence
quotient,
  but not when its plain,
outright cipher logistics...
        
surely the english should be paying
less attention to me,
and more to...
those 300 or so illegal schools
set up by Pakistani muslims,
yes, no, maybe?

                     there's funny funny...
there's sort of funny...
and there's funny...
but i don't want to think too much
about it, either being,
or not being funny...
   laughter like tears is
highly impulsive,
   subsequently highly
spontanoeus, and...
                          uncontrollable...

black humour is one thing,
but telling jokes
to the point where you reach
a per se crucible?
and the jokes are so,
so, so "intelligent" that they become
"unfathomable"?
i think that's the time you take
a break from being "comedy arbiters"...

oh... unless this is...
where you let me peer into
the "antibiotic" /
  "xenophobic" reactionary
tactic?
  no wonder i'm not
"in" on the "in-joke" of
the demographic!
     **** me!
              of course i'm not
supposed to get it!
  it's not funny to me,
simply because the in-group
mentality is so sophisticated
that i would never be
in on the "in-group" giggles!

         good! good!
at least thanks to this,
we will not be seeing
much of comedy, "comedy"
being exported outside of england
akin to monty python!
good!

           it's good that the crown
of comedy was taken off the head
of the english...
and given to someone else...
i liked "intelligent" comedy
up to a point...
   then "too much" thinking
became involved...
and i lost both the plot and a sense
for giggles...

     point being,
what was the best joke i ever heard?
only last night...
i was unable to think...
but i laughed...
     it wasn't exactly
the aeons of the sea before me...
it was the void in my mind
that was the joke...
         an existence...
with a ******'s worth of
"thought": albeit bound to:
not thinking...

that's the best joke
i've ever heard,
  hence my painting of
the hebrew definite article,
i.e.:
                         HA,

e.g. ha-stanley:  
                              the-satan.

*and why wouldn't the persians
rebel against the orthodoxy driven
camel-jockeys?
the persians would bow before
the arabs?!
                   really?!
fly a ******* kite, eat a mango...
*******
   donning a glove filled
with ice-cubes...
     i gather, that, islam,
was, the monotheism,
that found itself,
hopeful, to be immune to
a schism...
       and what's so true about islam
if it has succumbed
to the ontological reality
of all religions, except judaism,
namely, a schism?
      islam is lucky though...
unlike christianity,
with its late initial schism...
then the  
polytheistic-esque schism
past the orthodox / catholic /
protestant "debate"....
                 islam was lucky...
only one schism...
persians not happy being ruled
by camel jockey arabs...
   so... is it a "true" religion?
oh sure, sure...
i'd convert...
      but there was a schism in islam...
so it's no longer a "true" religion,
is it?
          why would it be?
the religion encountered a schism...
what if, and if i would...
i would... i would convert
to the shia branch of islam...
i wouldn't convert
to the sunni faction...
        what then?!

            true as in unifying as in:
rebel iran?!
  oops!
                   to hell with this world...
the bible, the quran,
the secular bible known as 1984...
if there's no afterlife...
well...
          i'm already bored, stiff, dead,
whatever comes next...
m'eh...
                whatever comes comes
and that's just another whatever
with no justification
or a fixation of a consequential
purpose.
Morgan Milligan Jun 2012
Once upon a time,
I dare asked for preference on
Characters of fantasy.
I took a tally poll without mere thought
But then the deeply stored epiphany came later.
For if we are judging creatures of imagination then we must
Be grading stereotypes.
We gave each only a few characteristics
And in turn labeled our minds restrictive.
In the world of zombies and unicorns we can create anything we want.
In the realm of fantasy,
Everything and anything exist.
The question is unanswerable.
Yenson Aug 2018
Build me a slow boat to Timbuktu via China
Heave down a fleecy cloud and let me float to Nirvana
Hunt me a unicorn and let me ride to the Enchanted Forest
Find me a giant eagle and let it lift me to Outer Mongolia East

'please don't leave me here amongst demons with human faces'


Show me a Church and I'll show you a hall full of Sinners
Point out a wife and I'll reveal a liar and a fake and none dimer
Call a Doctor and its a Monster who betrayed the Hippocratics
That Government Boss is a cruel heinous snake without ethics

'please don't leave me here amongst demons with human faces'


See that Preacher and see a spineless hypocrite back-stabber
That lover was nothing but a sick deranged false **** twister
My dear acquaintance a heartless corrupted shyster unhinged
A Newsagent full of pitiless, gloomy, vile, psychotic joy-suckers

'please don't leave me here amongst demons with human faces'


That friend of years a bloodsucking Judas who betrayed and stole
Uncles who rained terror with sadistic pleasures in parts unwhole
Show me nieces and find two-faced ******* with poisons in veins
Neighborhoods full of silent killers and Rapists of truthful genes

'please don't me leave here amongst demons with human faces'


A vicars' daughter wielding angst axes better than a viking
The pathetic Moors zombies tearing flesh on masters beholding
The dead-eyed Arabs salivating madly or at daggers drawn
Contemptible Men-kids with pin ****** used as King's pawns

'please don't leave me here amongst demons with human faces'


Build me a cottage in rolling green fields with blue skies
Find me a fair maiden with a true heart and warming smiles
Show me a place that holds fairness and justice real and dear
A world with humanity we're all sisters and brothers for care

'please don't leave me here amongst demons with human faces'


copyright@LaurenceA.9th August2018
Trinity O Feb 2012
Did you know they pay people to study here,
to stay here after studying? It’s the human
capital flight of the tech-smart who type faster
than an entire room of secretaries in cardigans and pearls.
But the bigger question is, if all the brains
are draining out like spiders in a shower, then who is still here
weighting the state lines down with stones
if not zombies? Brainless bodies hungry, crabby, and without
an appropriate sense of boundaries.
          They lure you in
with home values and cheap houses—the tired ones
who are getting old for their age, who don’t run as fast or as often
and want an easy life with chubby children and a yard,
or those who are sick of being felt up ‘accidentally’ on the 22 Fillmore bus.
This is how they get you.
          And you stay because it grows on you
the way everything grows in Indiana, effortlessly and way too fast.
Plus, let’s face it, you’ve gotten lazy and don’t
make enough money to one day move away
with the kids and the yard and all.
So the zombies win.
          But being Indiana,
the neo-conservatists would swoop in to save the day
against the zombies who hate us for our freedoms
and the liberation of our women. And sometime after
the "Mission Accomplished" banner is broadcast
to all 50 states from a ship safely tucked away
on Lake Michigan,
          the zombies will regroup again
and pick us off like old ladies at the bus station.
Then with even more determination and hatred of the living
they’ll get fat on intellect until they’ve eaten the last,
and the un-dead of Indiana will die of starvation.
Stephen E Yocum Jul 2017
I rolled out of bed
to start my day,
but the power was off
my all electric home,
as still as a grave.
No coffee, or toast.
The refrigerator not cold,
the freezer started dripping
the contents soon to spoil.

No computer, no cell phone service!
I began sweating profusely,
no air conditioning to cool me.
Not even a TV Emergency Broadcast Alert,
to release this uneasy feeling of topsy-turvy .

I drove into town seeking a pay phone,
with not a single one to be found,
gone the way of the dinosaurs,
extinct now too I assumed.

My old truck had no computer chips,
most cars did and were dead in their tracks.
I needed gas but the gas station pumps
electric computer driven, all DOA to boot.

The Nations electric grid had crashed,
blacked out, stone cold dead everywhere.
All heavenly satellites blacked out, expired.
Everything computer related (and
that is about everything), had ceased
to function as had the electronic reliant
world we had created.  

The street throngs of dazed people walked
around like zombies, clutching blacked out
dead computer devices, knowing not what to do.
Not even talking, forgotten I guess how to do that too.
As dependently defectively programmed as the useless
devices in their hands.

In a panic I did awake finding that
this scary dream world was indeed all fake,
a nightmare of fearful unconscious thinking.
My electric clock was still churning,
It's music alarm blaring,
birds outside still singing,
my cell phone started ringing,
it was merely another Robot call,
Welcoming me back to the 21 century.
Imagine if you can some man made device or solar flare
knocking out all the satellites in space and computers on
earth, then this nightmare is not so far-fetched.
I actually did have this unsettling dream. The possibility
of this reality does indeed exist.
Alex Nov 2019
We stare at empty light
Look at fake pictures
Pretend that everything
Is just okay

We watch pointless videos
Mindless entertainment
To fill the endless void
The people have created

We don't know what to do with ourselves
To keep us occupied
We don't know what we like
We don't know how else to hide

The world is ending
People are dying
We are all stuck
In a fake world

Just zombies
Trying to cure ourselves
Of the terrifying void
Outside

— The End —