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.