the anatomy of a dead machine

Outside the lights are damaged, and the people are gone. the buildings are mournful, and the window is fogged up. the apartment inside my house is dead silent. and i 'm lonely, still (and half dead). all the eyes on the outside are on me, the walls are talking. and the dripdripdripping of the faucets driving me anywhere but down. i woke up this morning in a house that isnt mine, the world past my fogged up window is not my own. and i dont know what to do with myself. this life before me was not very prosperous in the first place. so my mind races through the empty rooms and begin to start to make up things on its own. maybe i should venture forth, out the door and into the hall. or maybe i should stay here and wait for this world to end (or start up again) . and so i determine to get up and try my hand at the door that opens to a world that isnt there. i figure, whats the worst that could happen. i might not exist anyways...