Skeletons

they ride city buses
as if no one knows they're dead
somehow even convincing themselves
that they are alive

flesh looks like crumpled up notebook paper
thin blue lines crossing in dead end directions

i want to feel
empathy
sympathy
concern

as someone who toyed with death
danced in graveyards
and etched his own name
into headstones
i
should

but i don't

i got out when i had a reason
and these walking sets of bones
are far beyond that point

they might as well stay dead
until they realize it