Undead
By Tara Nicole Walker
7.2.2002
I don't feel alive.
I feel lost.
I know I'm not.
I know I live.
But I'm alone.
In the middle of the bustling
Crowds.
I'm alone.
Sitting here with myself.
I'm alone.
I'm just going through the motions.
I'm just living –
Bu dieing, day by day.
I feel unreal.
I feel not dead –
But undead.
Untrue.
Unreal.
Not right.
The life is missing
From my petty existence.
I love.
Yet I die.
I tell the trough
Yet somehow lie.
What is there to gain from living?
When all I do is die?
There is no prize.
No gift.
No gain.
No medal.
No statue.
No fame.
Nothing to entice me.
Nothing to egg me on.
Nothing to keep me going.
I can't win.
I try and I lose.
Here I am in body.
But where has my spirit gone?
I stand here.
Alone.
Utterly.
Completely.
But I am not here.
I am.
But I am not.
There is nothing I can do –
But die.
And live.
Again and again.
At the same time.
I am unreal.
Untrue.
Undead.
Doing what I do.
Going through the motions.
Undead.
I live a little less.
Die a little more.
Everything I do is incorrect.
I lose the race.
I miss the game.
What I do is wrong.
Unreal
Untrue
Undead.