An Outsider Cries

Lacking purpose,
and flung into the foray,
of a thousand other mindless,
thoughtless,
hopeless drones,
and still I am,
alone.

Living corpses,
dead to their own desire,
spirits shattered by dares,
to believe,
dream,
and living none,
condone.

Mournful cries,
muffled by walking lies,
colored in by crayon this gray,
dull,
grainy life,
a perfect image,
forever blown.