I was born to die…

I skate… Backwards.. Moon walking across auxiliary planets’ surfaces..

Born dead.. And if I continue to die before I wake.. My soul shall remained condemned.. A slave to both time and space…

I have neither the time nor space to reconcile this dissonance…

I pump my brain til it starts to feel good… Numb my thoughts until I can’t feel my thinking…

Thoughts without feelings…. A sweet poisonous nectar…

Action without thought…. An addiction… An affliction…

I’m a robotic Hemingway…

A slumber,I reside…

Not quite awake.. Not unresponsively dead… Still congregating with the zombies… Whispering into the shadows…

You know the walking dead…

Wiping crust out my eye….

Skulls and bones animate– dancing in rthymic patterns under the Suns gaze… They worship the Sun and it only seeks to burn… They burn there decrepit flesh.. Yet they remain loyal…

I’m growing bored with competing with necro lovers….

Survival of the deadest…

Necrophilia–because our souls have made union with minds that refuse to think, and bodies that insist on dying…

Everyday I wake up dying…

And every night I seek resurrection…

Til death do us part…

Until eternity brings us back together again…