Dead Yet?

I live in a world that feels dead.

We breathe — proof we’re alive —

yet we are all dead.

Dead, not as in dust and grave,

but as in erased —

when thought fades,

when feeling turns hollow.

Who said death waits for the body?

No — death begins

when the things that make us alive

are taken, stripped, rewritten.

We live in a world of erasure —

a garden where false seeds grow,

not of soil and sun,

but of safety that shackles,

comfort that commands.

Fear — our foundation.

Erasure — our design.

And so it will be,

until truth finds us,

until we awaken

and remember

who we really are.