I used to think that life was for the living
As I find myself less inspired
Definitely just existing
Unbearable, unusable
This life, my life
Is for the walking wounded
Divided I last
Desired I fall
Layers and layers of misery
That has never left the confines of my own mind
It pulses, it breathes
Not like life, not like the living
It has no meaning worth mentioning
It merely exists
Feeding on itself
Until it ceases to be
Until life is again for the living and not the pretending
Jennifer Barajas
A Dead Language 