Dead Man Walking…


I think there’s something wrong with me,
an emptiness inside,
that stymies my emotions
in the thoughts I try to hide.
Forgetting things I should recall,
a world no longer real,
simulate emotions
in a bid to help me feel.

I’m sure things used to stimulate
my heart and mind and soul,
but fractured thoughts and voices
leave me struggle to be whole.
Going through the motions grind
and trying to fit in,
yet every day I fall behind,
so numb beneath my skin.

Losing who I want to be
to who I now become,
a tin man looking for a heart
to stop him feeling numb.
Detached, my waking coma bleeds,
my world so black and white,
colours drain in darkness
as my tears fade to night.

Always hiding who I am,
a mask I wear so well,
so no one sees the Demon’s eyes
beneath this mortal shell.
Smile and say the lines to hush
self-loathing running rife,
a role that I was born to play,
each day throughout my life.

Detached, I watch how humans act
to emulate their deeds,
a glimpse of who I used to be,
a window to their needs.
But still I feel no love or hate
as mood swings leave me numb,
it makes me wonder who I am
and what I will become.

I used to get excited but
I can’t remember how,
things that seemed to mean so much
just seem redundant now.
And every day or so it seems,
I lose a little more,
I wish I knew what broke inside
to open up this door.

Drowning in an ocean
of a world no longer mine,
lost in my confusions
as I’m pulled beneath the brine.
Drawn into my fictions
to such worlds that keep me sane,
writing my addictions
as they pour out of my brain.

Holding on to fantasies
in worlds that seem so real,
living through creations
as a means to help me feel.
To live and love and laugh and cry
in lives that I create,
tapping facets in my mind
that help me love and hate.

A Deity who scribes a world
and gives it life to grow,
a God who guides his hero
as he overcomes his foe.
Creating all his challenges
to build his strength and soul,
bestowing him his tragedies
for pain to take its toll.

Why do I feel in fictions when
reality is numb,
there must be something in my life
I’m yet to overcome.
It never used to be this way,
in life I used to thrive,
instead of walking like a ghost,
pretending I’m alive.

I really don’t know what to do,
I don’t know who I am,
I don’t know who I’m meant to be
and no more give a damn.
I fade a little more each day,
despite what I deny,
if I could truly feel something,
then I would surely cry.


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