Living Pains

"Living hurts," I say,

and no one believes me,

if they even hear me at all.

"Living hurts", as I relate

A tad too heavily

To my dear Lady Plath.

For what is the point

When Living Hurts?

When I wake every day in tears

At the thought of starting again?

Someday I too will pass,

And If I could do it all again,

I cannot say I would,

Because living hurts.

Because no one is kind,

And I am far too kind.

I feel the world gasp for air,

See the cracks in its facade.

She hurts, and I as well,

Because Living hurts.

Reading — my first love.

Drawn in by her charms,

The way she made me forget

That Living hurts,

Because for a few hours,

People saved the day.

For a few hours people were kind,

and everyone was happy,

And living didn’t hurt!

Until I reach her final page,

Search high and low for a new one —

Ever the unsatisfied lover.

I crave her like a drug,

Because I want,

Need to forget.

If I cannot change the world,

I will visit another one,

Every day as I grow old

Alongside these living pains.