living, loving

Darkness twirling in a little closed space.
A light might make it a room.
A lamp might even make it home.
And you, you might've done something;
before it got so bad.

Before this room looked so empty.
Before these walls seemed so hollow.
Before this angst felt so poignant.

Instead, we've all been dying here for decades now
while death doesn't notice, doesn't aid us, doesn't break us.

We've just been burning up for centuries now,
without any of the ash to put some of the fire out.

We're just waiting, decaying for lifetimes now,
without some of our bones starting to show through the rotten sores.

It's because we're all lost.
See, we aren't really dying.
Aren't really burning.
Aren't even decaying.

Aren't really breathing,
Aren't really moving,
Aren't even caring
Because we're lost.

-RLL (c)2006

As always, critique/comment/aid in harboring!
I've decided this is a preliminary forum to dA, so if you see a poem here -- "it needs YOU {uncle sam que}"!