Living Dead


He was born into a dream,
breathed and lived it
like the nightmare he is

Rolling his eyes in and out
of anxiety trance, hating
he loved his misery bliss

Scratched dry and irritated
in his skin, loosely wild
for nothing new

Fastly hopping through
the tender moments while
slow dragging through the blue

Back and forth, lost
in the mold between
real and the fake

Dead in his consciousness,
wrinkled and dry
breathlessly lying awake

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