Food for thought...

It is as if I were walking within a dream. 

Unable to wake, asking myself: Is this really living? 

I feel cold, as if I’ve been wired up to a machine, walking over empty landscapes with an insatiable thirst for some untouchable feeling; dragging myself, 
solemnly through days, 
collecting jewels and pointless stuff, 
only to part with myself in objects that are empty and reflect my emptiness back to me. 

I am detached somehow, from my essence

What can I do about the man dying across the street
as I rush to the catch the train that never waits? 

What can I do about this dying land? 

There is a void within me, carved from without. 

What are we living for, 
without the burden of passion that drives us to emancipation? 

What are living for, 
if we can only take and never learn the value of giving back?

What are we living for?

I am paper thin. A hollow simulation. 

Running in circles,
within a black space. 

It is as if I were dreaming…
forgotten treasures, waiting for me to wake.