Walking Dead

I think we’re all living,
Or at least, that’s what I’m told.
That when we breathe and cry and scream
It’s a sign that our hearts are still beating
And we’re something of worth.

And I think we’re all dead,
From what I infer.
Because when we choke and rage and sob
It means our hearts are broken
And we really aren’t worth much at all.

So it’s my guess that we’re neither,
That perhaps we’re somewhere in-between.
We’re not loving enough to be alive
And not apathetic enough to be dead
We’re just walking dead and having a hard time standing.

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