living dead
sinister beings lost in illusions of a distant happiness that's been molded from clay. trying to find our true selves, only by disguising who we're afraid we might be. yet we still hold on to what we've never wanted and fail to grasp the concept of change. searching for clarity, immune to such severity, but can still feel the pain. lying in the ashes of the extinguished fires of our past, we are all afraid to blow. so we keep still, never make a sound. continue breathing, yet have ceased being alive.