Abiotic

This is not life Façade-glossed eyes Spilling out Keeling from inside This is not What I traded for a pay check A calendar space Insentience This is not dilated pupils Suggestive smirks on long open nights Sidewalk flocks through the blinking city sights This is antithesis A nihilistic spectacle Handfuls of myself Slung at some meaningless backdrop Of tedious, grievous facelessness I am dead weight Basking in a womb of ruin DIY Self-inflicted holocaust, Ashen, laughing Swearing that I’ll rise This is not life Lying awake Vexing over lost, losing, perpetual time Abiotic, unborn Pressing through groupthink, Stacholm syndrome, Wondering when I died