The air feels grainy with disappointment. Fear is in the bones that step out of our bodies and unsteadily walk away.
We are divided. We have no support. We collapse.
Or we remain upright and plod through our days like zombies trying to find a way back to the way things were. We are the walking dead pushing ourselves forward, our eyes open but unseeing, craving something we can't explain, knowing nothing is going to fill the void where our hearts used to beat.
There's blood on our hands and blood in the street. We are oppressed and guilty all at once. We huddle together to protest our depression and share some warmth. It is cold within and without. The fire in our bellies is hunger, not passion. Words fail us. Is anyone even listening? Do we even know each other?
We numb our minds with vapid media and faux drama to avoid the pain of the reality behind our front doors and beyond our borders. Uncertainty looms like a vast sticky web ready to hit us in the face should we wander. We don't want to become entangled and trapped, but we are trapped anyway, paralyzed by inertia and indecision.
Tonight skeletons and zombies and spiders will knock on our doors. We will feed our fears candy and smiles, and then when our reserves are empty, when there is absolutely nothing left to offer, we'll extinguish the lights, and sleep the sleep of the damned and be damned.