Wicked World

Wicked World

Wicked world, why was I born?

Surely not to struggle,

not to wake each day

with my soul torn.

It doesn’t seem right

to hurt this way,

to smile and say “I’m fine”

when I’m breaking every day.

I sleep real late,

wake too early.

Why does life treat

us triers so unfairly?

My motto is simple:

Live just to survive.

No matter how bad,

at least I’m alive.

But the universe?

It seems out to break.

Some take and take,

and all of it feels fake.

So what is life?

Someone define.

You say it’s shared,

what’s yours was never mine.

give and I bend

but still get the blow,

they call it growth.

Just what does it show?

They preach about light

and finding your way,

but where’s that path

on a pitch-black day?

Please Don’t talk to me

of blessings and fate

some of us rise

while some just wait.