Why?

Why was I born this way,

to be society’s burden?

To be a blight on life,

and a disappointment

to everyone’s path I cross.

To feel like a human,

though just barely.

To love meaning well,

but it all becomes hell.

Roses and Dollar Tree Haul: Plague Cleaning and Air Freshening

Spring

The sun mocks me

and the sky is blue.

Spring is alive

while I’m dead inside.

The world is decaying

and I am the plague.

Flowers I touch wilt.

I alone my prison built.