Wandering through the day
With a glazed over look in your eyes
Empty glass orbs guiding you
But you don’t know where
And you go for fear of standing still
Movement makes you feel alive
But the cold, blank stare never leaves
People say hello and all
You can do is offer a stare in return
Small talk drains you
Seeking distractions to forget
If you don’t think about it
Then it will go away of doesn’t exist
This might treat the symptom
But the cause is ignored
It’s becoming a subculture
The depression and anxiety of millions
Creating the dead inside movement
There are not enough jobs to provide
Everyone a life with meaning and fulfillment
I believe everything happens for a reason
But what’s the purpose in this
What can be gained from so many zombies
Wasting away any potential which
They have no way to utilize
I wonder why there aren’t more
Reports of suicides
Or are there so many it’s impossible
To report all of them
When does the suffering end
I dream and hope for something better
But it’s difficult to maintain hope
So I push forward growing more and more empty
Pursuing something I’ll never achieve
To distract me from the darkness inside
From the poetry collection Cats, Coffee, Catharsis.
James Pack 