A mindless body walks around
It's feet searching for solid ground
The hands search for grips to hold
The skin feels the heat of cold
The nose can smell the hard, dead air
While the eyes search for what's not there
The noisless wind just howls around
The ears pick up the dying sound
The tongue will taste the dried up blood
While the worn out shell makes home of mud
His will is shattered, and mind, still gone
And the heartless earth will break the bond
This man once had with his mortal self
And take him off the living shelf
-HTC
This poem was written during one of the more monotonic times in my life. I know I'll probably have more of those times, and in those times, more feelings like those expressed here will emerge.