American Dream (Complete)

I.
There was a life I used to live
Reckless youth gave way to college
Then came the American Dream with the house, wife, 2.5 kids
You know the story too well for me to go on.

Then came the sickness
The rancid, nauseating feeling of impending demise
One wound was all it took to make my life a leaf adrift on the wind
One wound was all it took to lay the foundation of my new exsistance.
Sure, people knew what was to become of me
My fate, so to speak....
But that did not suppress hope
Humans have that in abundance
Even against over-whelming odds in this, this..
Epidemic of insanity

Sanity, now there's a something to rationalize
Bodies have always lined the streets
Talking on their phones, wearing expensive suits
Wondering if that person passing by would fuck them
Had they only just said "hello"
Walking.
Now those flesh sacks just run without moving
Bleeding from limbless torsos
Horror still the expression on their face
Did I just call that a face?

We used to love to feel the sun
On those faces
But it has been absent for awhile now
The cars burning in the streets choke out the tar
From their lungs, seemingly to deny those rays

So...
How does sanity live in this world?
I dont believe it does
It's just a lie.
One that I continually tell myself as I venture forth.

I feel hungry. I need to stop all this philosophy
Internal debate makes lunch less satisfying
Evolving into a being less sofisticated
Is no easy process.
I pray it gets easier.
All I guess I really know is hunger
The most primative desire of survival
My emotions and thoughts just slide south and
Out the holes in my feet, only to
Plague the soil with further corruption
All I really know is the hunger
And I'm really...so.......

Hungry.

II.
I still roam the halls and roads, salivating
Over the possibility of a fresh, warm meal. One that
Still moves, sees
Breathes
It seems as though too many have joined the insipid crusade
That I champion against my will

Diseased and ravaged bodies once lived solitary lives, but now
We hunt in packs. Sheer numbers destroying
Foundations of muscle
I have difficulty rationalizing the beast I've become
Yet I do not stuggle to
Be anything else
It seems such logic is commonplace amongst my
Brethren as well

There may have been a time, when simple
Things like color
Would have impacted our decisions of
Love, fear, hate, lust...but
We have become two-legged wolves that feast
Upon the flesh
Forcing relocation to our collective
Possibly less than mongrels are we
At least they choose
What to slaughter. Our only requirement
Is thought.

I am unsure how much war I have left in this husk
Part of me wishes meals would
Dissipate like steam in the night air,
Leaving our horde to starve and
Gain no momentum
Human nature too stubborn to give in
To such a request from someone as indistinguished as
Me.
Hahaha.
Me?
There is almost no me left any longer
Only that abysmal hunger, that
Pesky appetite.

III.
Somehow, here I am. Still shuffling.
Aimlessly drifting. Awaiting rapture.
My pack has been thined by rebellion
And my mind only wonders why
I am so damned tired

Oh God, I tire of this.

God.
Why have I not thought of you sooner?
Maybe with you, my life would have
Survived that...that....wound
I suffered
Perhaps this is just a game orchestrated by you
This madness and decline
This being
This hunger
This life
This....

Are we your saints to vanquish
Those that got away?
Doubtful.
Faith is in the chance belief you breathe and
We are the sinners trapped in purgatory
Our purpose seems to be
Consuming those that challenge the masses
We.
The we, that myself and countless others became.
We the horde,
We the slaves.

Though I am now an instrument of decay, God
I want you to know that I love you.
Or rather, the thought of you
You see, I am still too much of
An artist
Even if I'm the walking dead
Writers, artists, and poets live
For different views, perceptions
To challenge and change
Ideas.
Ideals.
Processes of thought.
My body may slave to hunger, but my
Heart and mind live free
Free of control
And free of restraint.

Like I said before, I love you.
The idea of you.
I think the only way to know
If my faith was well placed
Is to meet a friendly shotgun
With something it wants to talk about.
Willing to deliver me
To the answer, to you,
Or to nothing
For now though,
This leaf stays adrift on the wind.

Free.