A Joyful Zombie Night Train to Paris

2017-01-03 Tuesday Paris

I can't talk because I lost my voice.

I try to open my mouth, but people are shaking their heads and shrugging their shoulders. Coldly.

I am not sure whether they are saying:

 I can't hear you! Idiot.

I can't see any small objects or bigger scenes,

Even just to capture the blurry colors or shapes.

I can't use or feel my brain.

 I lost my basic human ability.

I try to search for the broken pieces.

Oh, I am dead.

I am muet.

I am blind.

I am sad and broken. 

I am abandoned.

I am dead.

I can't breathe.

I can't even hold my paper tea cup.

I can't look at you in my memory.

I have to run,

Away. 

Farther and funnier. 

I am dead.

My eyes are squeezed, swollen and sold.

My throat is feeling gooey, ugly, fierce and coarse.

My fingers are numb and becoming scarily huge.

My legs are woods filled with human blood.

How lucky, I feel the blood trembling inside joyfully, through the veins.

My heart is stoic.

My brain is sorrowful.

Even so is my shinning strong thick hair.

The pain sparkles in the dark train. 

I am dead.

The train is full of zombie.

I am one of them. 

I have to run.

For one moment, I forgot,

I am dead. 

如果你喜欢我的诗歌，记得来告诉mei呀。