When You Cannot Ask for Directions

When You Cannot Ask for Directions

Ordinarily,
late morning I wake up by killing zombies.
They're everywhere and never go away.
The kinda chaos that fucks with survivors.

           And I want to live. And write. And write differently.
                      And love differently.

I try to leave afternoon reminders I write down whenever I can.

                                 I spend late nights driving endlessly everywhere
                                            stopping would mean to ask myself,
                                                                  "Where am I going?"
                      Everything is lost to me.
The east is not mine. The west is not mine. The north or the south isn't mine.
           Obscure like lines of this poem I forgot to write down while being
                      too busy waking up one late morning killing zombies.

They're everywhere and never go away.
           The kinda chaos that fucks with survivors.
                      Spoils of ill-gotten gains. Survive regardless.

Stealing from Whitman helps only so much.
No one knows this better than you.