is

is this my life now?
now, more than before, i ask myself how.
how it all ended up like this:
this world, these people, it all feels amiss.
amiss, with everything that i do
do nothing, and life still happens to you.
you always tell me that everything will be alright,
“alright,” i tell you, but my worries still keep me up at night.
night, a darkness that quickly ends
ends the misery, or so i think, but i just can’t make amends.
amends for the wrongs that people say i’ve committed
committed to nothing, but i say that it’d
it’d be okay if just once i didn’t study for that quiz,
quiz that should help me learn, but who can know what life really is.

is this my life now?
now, more than before, i ask myself how.
how is one question, though; a better one is why?
“why?” is best answered with an exasperated sigh.
sigh, because if you think too much, all you’ll do is cry,
cry tears that flow down your mountain of fears
fears that could follow you throughout all of your years.
years of your life that you will never get back,
back to tracking all of your progress, but you’ll never receive that shiny plaque.
plaques can only be won by a whiz
whiz who is appreciated, who can actually climb that lepidobotrys
lepidobotrys staudtii— perhaps a tall, unclimbable tree is what this life really is.
is this my life now?
now, more than before, i ask myself how.
how?
why?
the more i ask, the more i cry.