Walking Dead

All around the walking dead.
All the ills pound in my head.
I hate the world I feel it's sick.
The walking dead suck your spirit to make them tick.

They're all around to burn and screw.
They're dead inside they're dead inside they just look for pleasure through.
By stealing, haunting, all to prove,
that they are might and hold pure power over you.

The walking dead how can I deal?
To the core a true feeling rotten real.
I hate them so they're all around.
Just humankind to which God has bound.

poem by Michael McParland
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!