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The Status of a Zombie

16 Mar

Once, I knew where

my life was leading

But now I have nothing at all

I don’t have any tears to shed

as the worries have bled me dry

Debt mounting up and

ambition ebbing

heartache burning and breathing slowing

The numbness I feel is immense

And that’s the irony

Or is it a paradox?

I feel and yet I don’t feel

I am nothing but a Zombie

Awake yet not awake

Dead but not dead.

But I might as well be

For I have nothing

Nothing to my name to make me feel

Sane.

The man without status.

Status.

Is it important to me?

Yes, it is.

Why?

Without standing for recognition and acceptance

in this world

We have nothing

We are nobodies

I am a Nobody

I am _________

I am

I am a face without a name

I am lost

I am a man without a clause

in a contract

A contract to give me status

Status in life  brings

food on the table

Better wellbeing and health

Attracts new people and experiences

Attracts – like flies around shit

Without status, treated like shit

That’s ironic isn’t it?

Irony or paradox

Irony.

A man without status

might as well be a Zombie.

DEAD.

(c) The Learned Kat CF7

Drop The Facade

27 Feb

Melancholia shrouds my soul

Life stormy on the brink of a hell hole

fingers burning with black flames

heavy heart laden with pain

tears dripping amulets of blood

life ebbing a drought not floods

cases of anarchy explode in my brain

counting on Two, keeping me sane

a life faltering, falling free

enclosed in a den of devilish men

Take a knife and slice the cord

shabby4

The Victorian Era in 2015

27 Feb

I haven’t been on here for ages. So much has happened since my last post, and I may be able to write about it in the near future, but for now, I will share this poem:

The stresses of my life are bringing me down gone are the days when I smiled like a clown brain activity pounding on my crown dead are my thoughts – racing –¬†breaking me down, cold is my heart tearing me apart government sanctions and interventions corpses created without stimulation smoking weed restrictions taking no heed, patois speakers taking the lead, no money mo’ problems, calling suicide at the door, rock bottom life hitting the floor.

crazy like a fox, sitting around scratching at my face wanting to use a loaded mace, suicide beckons, a slash of the wrist, take a tumble, pretend you’re pissed. Weight bearing down, life closing in, Loved ones departed, you’re living in sin. Tension mounts, and bodies grow hard While fat cats of London, circle the Shard We’re not The Simpsons or in a Rainbow world Rep 3
People’s lives are messing by the cruel cruel Lords While fat cats of London, circle the Shard. We’re not The Simpsons or in a Rainbow world, people’s lives are messing by the cruel cruel Lords.