look at all the laughing dead

look at all the laughing dead
milling aimlessly about the room
and rustling like the husks
of abandoned cicada skins

determine the clinical light
reflecting off sightless lens and
obscenely exposing the teeth
in masks of ghastly grins

they mingle with their own
if simply just out of habit
the talker and the walker
the folder and the holder

and this room feels cold but
no one really seems to care
theres no bodyheat anywhere
near these listing cadavers

and all the laughing dead
are powdered and perfumed
but all their nodding heads
hide haunted thoughts of gloom

they are pale worn ghosts
mere shells of spent selves
more than they can remember
has already been forgotten

before i leave i leave a kiss
on a face beyond reproach
knowing that when i go it
will be like i had never been

look at all the laughing dead
milling aimlessly about the room
and rustling like the husks
of abandoned cicada skins.