Condition: Dead

dead

By: A.B.Thomas

With heart that beats

Yet longs to the out be bled

Hidden by a quirked façade of alive

-a structured connive-

To walk amongst the nine to five

Rather than fold, vomit and writhe

Only to face those who claim to “know”

And claim to empathize

All lies

As each of their syllabic babble

Of what is considered the appropriate said

Only heightens the self loathe

To a volcanic red

As if they have seen the path

Down I’ve allowed to be led,

Scraped raw blisters of dutiful sole-less tread

Condition: dead