I feel the flatline of my existence disrupting, forming heartbeat hills and valleys
Can we really choose anything?' 'Maybe. If we want to bad enough.
My friend "M" says the irony of being a zombie is that everything is funny, but you can't smile, because your lips have rotted off.
We eat and sleep and shuffle through the fog, walking a marathon with no finish line, no medals, no cheering.
We're fumbling in the dark, but at least we're in motion.
I've always been interested in writing from the perspective of an outsider.