The dead walk among us
in hollow-eyed stares
and regretful meanderings
my own image reflected
in a mirror shows me
death of a million kinds
not least of which
is innocence,
that lie I have left behind
Names and faces
erased to meaninglessness
buried in cold earth
that bears it because it must
and those who forget, try to move on
and those who don't,
live hollow half-lives
and what's wrong with them?
They wonder what's wrong with them.
The dead walk among us
and we're too ignorant to mourn
the death of selves we've
left behind.
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