Zombies

Stressful is a song sung by the many.
Reiterated beyond twos and threes.
Fallen cakes clawing towards an untimely oblivion.
Why wander through a truth that screams our undying fiction?
Sensing rotting flesh reminding us that pain is in the eye of the beholder.
For God's sake are we preparing or propagating?
I once heard from a wise man that we are what we eat.
Do.
Fuck.
Know.
Thank god I didn't argue.
Point is, we are asking for it.
Beds made and remade,  still
looking like a hot mess.
Who in the fuck wants to be a zombie?!
It isn't Haiti's fault.
We look and sound like fools in the ears
of the greater good .
Twisting and turning in the sloppy mud of excuses .
I thank God everyday my name isn't Sarah Palin.
Mon Dieu!
I hope we all remember to love, because even if our
brainless bodies die our souls shall prevail.