Living, though dead.

A short passage about surviving the day, often at the expense of losing the soul to make a living.

Photo by Ryoji Iwata on Unsplash

Morning comes too soon. Yet, not quick enough. 

My body aches for movement—my mind for a blank slate. To work in my sleep is what I wish. To live and not be real is how I die. 

Needs beckon. No job too small. All work must be done. 



Smile at a lie. Tip my hat to industry. 

Yes, I can do everything you need. Here are my accomplishments, don’t you see? 

You’re great, but no. We’re choosing another...

Smile at the lie. Tip my hat to industry. 

Can’t I do everything they need? They don’t seem to think so. What else could it be?



A notice arrives. It glances at me. 

I seize the moment. Can it be? 

Smile at truth? Tip your hat to artistry? 

A breath of life is what it seems, like a warm cup of coffee in a cool autumn breeze. This opportunity was made for me.

Smile at truth. Tip my hat to artistry.

Yes, I can do everything you need. Here are my accomplishments, don’t you see?

…

My words fall on empty ears. No truth. No lie. 

Was it ever real? Is no one alive?



The end of the day, and no needs are met. 

Not mine. Not theirs. But yet...

We keep moving. Were they needs at all? 

They must not be; otherwise, we’d fall. 

So my needs must be wants. No one needs values. No one needs art. 

No one wants me. I must deaden my heart.

Survive out of fear.

Walk without tears.

Smile at a lie. Tip my hat to industry. 



I do not fear death, for I already am most days. 

What I dread is forever remaining one of the living dead, always in a haze.

Death comes to us all. It’s already here. 

You’re already dead. Do you know what you fear?

Will you wake up?

...

Smile at a lie. Tip your hat to industry.

Or smile at truth and tip your hat to artistry.