This poem is a recent one. I thought that I may as well start here. A few people see the title and instantly read too much into it. I guess some poeple are not sure how to deal with the word 'dead', especially in the title of the poem. However, the poem is not describing death, or dying (or being dead, if we really have to go there). Ironically, it is very much describing being alive. Drudgingly alive. It's the other stuff that's dead, and that's the sad part about it. Emotion, dreams, secrets. Trapped in a life that really isn't what you wanted it to be and feeling down right sorry for yourself that you got caught up in it.
I am particularly proud of the vulture imagery, I really felt that I hit the nail on the head with that one. Depression: a predatory, stalking emotion, that pecks away at your soul.
I have posted this poem first, as it was in writing this that I realised I needed to go back to my original goals. To remember what I wanted out of life in the first place, and take steps in achieving them.
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