The living dead
they walk among us
wake up
take a breath,
go to work
go on tea
go on lunch,
go home
go to hell,
then back again,
every single day.
They are the invisible ones
we pass on our way,
automatons
hiding the pain,
hiding the bruises
hiding the hurt
hiding the shame,
making noise
that form words
yet are soundless,
made in vain.
The living dead
they walk among us
wake up
take a breath,
go to work
go on tea
go on lunch,
go home
go to hell,
then back again,
every single day.