Wounded Walking to Death
…And all around the city you see the walking wounded and the living dead…
— Jim Steinman in “Out of the Frying Pan (and into the Fire)”
We are the walking wounded…
We live dead to you.
You made us.
You were oblivious to our silent screams.
You refused to hear our heartache.
You took away our voice, silenced us.
You blocked your eyes to avoid our misery.
We die a million deaths
As you live your lives of desperation
Pretending your status seeking is normal
And we are not.
Your eyes are the dead walking.
You are wounded by lives not lived.
Your response to bells and whistles deadens creativity.
Your life is dead to us.
We live binding our own wounds
Because you can’t feel our pain.
Yet our pain is our life.
We need our pain.
It keeps us going
While you drown in indifferent doldrums.
Your reality is unreal.
To you we are really unreal,
And yet you don’t exist.
If you don’t see us,
We don’t see you.
Wound the walking.
Die living.
