The grey ghosts shuffle, aimless, scared and listless. Unable to decide and complaining to the few who still listen.
They move without purpose of what or where or how to be yet holding fast onto the shreds of dignity for without it they will fall.
Out of step with those who walk briskly and outcast by the others. They slouch with their grey heads staring without focus into the middle distance. From park benches.
Or in the warm loneliness of home they binge on the blue TV light with all the experience in the world yet afraid to wake tomorrow for yet another useless day.
Left behind by the rest and dressed with a vague expression of longing and waiting … to be old.
LOST IN DYSTOPIA 