In a world that’s barely a day
To wake up each morning to nothingness
And put on my makeup of gray
To line my eyes with coal
To brush my cheeks with dust
To coat my lashes with sludge
To cover my lips with mistrust
What is the point of my being here,
To prove that I was borne?
Existing is nothing to being alive
As dying is nothing to being mourned
Why go through life unloved,
Like a cup or a balloon?
I served my purpose, for a time
Soon my parts will be shattered and strewn
For no one loves a cup
And little life, has a balloon
One is a vessel to serve one’s needs
The other a bubble to be harpooned
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