called me the walking dead/ I had no clue what it meant but my soul was spent/ used to pay the expense of fragile egos/ my spirit was their trampoline/ my esteem was their throne/ I would let them feast at the table of my freedom/ I remained enslaved/ unpaid/I paid with my life/but with my life I knew death/buried alive/ so I learned how to hold my breath/until my exhalation became pyrotechnic/ this old skin shed like snakes engulfed in flames from the belief that trouble don't last always/ from the ashes I needed to blaze my last days where scavengers fed on my flesh/and each time they celebrated what they assumed was my last/the past is where they lay in desolate coffins/the ghost of depression past doesn't get to haunt me