That's how I feel sometimes, dead from the inside. I look into the mirror, I look dead, my eyes look tired and gone. Sometimes when I walk down the street I think that no one can see me; that's when I wonder if I'm dead. Like a big garbage hole. You can put stuff in, but it never gets full. In fact you never see any of what you put in again. Kind of like in one ear and out the other, but down and out of sight. That's where I'm at right now. I'm nothing and I'm passing time without the guts to make a move in out up down or otherwise. That's the name of my tune. That's the ring on my hangman's noose. That's my death row hallway walk. I'm fake, artificial. I think at one point I had it. I had it down but now I'm a swinging man. A cold breeze from way down the hallway blows my dangling body back and forth from day to day. Life has nothing in it worth living for, not in my mind. I tried all the things that were supposed to make me feel more alive, and they damn near killed me. I was lucky once.