Life is a game that continues eternally as an oxymoron.
It is anarchy incarnate yet completely organized.
How does that make sense?
After playing for so long I’ve learned not to question this game.

Human nature is simply a high-stakes checkers game.
Step over whomever you need to reach victory.
Once you’ve become a king you gain powers the other pieces can’t dream of.
Human nature, carefully calculated, cutthroat, and crippling to its foes.

The path to success in this world resembles a game of Uno.
Just when you think you’ve achieved victory the path changes.
At times opportunity skips you; at times everything begins to go in reverse.
The path to success, its unpredictability is ubiquitous and uncanny.

The goals of government mirrors a game of Simon Says.
One holds all the power and stands at the helm.
The others are bound to his whims.
Birthing blind followers to bend to their will no matter how brutal or barbaric.

How does one win this game?
You don’t win; you survive.
This is the game of life.

Reunited I am with this pen and pad of mine.
With joy my heart is filled to the brim like a cup of wine belonging to a drunk.
As I begin to write once more, I feel euphoria coursing through my veins.
To my pen and pad, “I’ve missed you both,” I whisper.

Our time apart has been excruciating.
My mind felt as though it were bound by shackles.
So many thoughts left unsaid because this pad is my only safe haven.
My intellectual prowess weakened because this pen is my only weapon.

Our time apart has brought me much melancholy.
My heart felt as though it were carrying the weight of the world.
So many feelings suppressed because I trust this pad more than my blood.
So many tears blinked back because I cry through this ink.

I have returned to you my friends.
Pen and Pad, embrace me once more.
My horrid hiatus from your presence has at last met its end.

This space lies between the present and my future desires.
For some it is heaven on Earth.
Others think hell can’t be much worse.
A cruel place indeed you are indeed.

Supposedly all are born equal.
That’s funny considering some come out of the womb with a silver spoon.
Some are born with no need for a spoon because they have no food.
Some are born into oppression; to them, the concept of free will is nothing more than a mirage.  
Inequality, a tragic fact of reality.

In this space we are expected to be happy.
However happiness is an illusion for many.
They feel as if light at the end of the tunnel is nothing but a myth.
Time after time they take their own lives hoping to find solace in death.
Depression, a crippling ailment of reality

Dreams are said to be omnipotent.
However, I’ve seen this place crush too many for that to be true.
Hope withers here.
This is the cage known as reality.

Have you ever felt a burning desire?
Not for money, power, fame, or glory, but for a person.
Have you ever loved someone enough to take a bullet for them?
I was once possessed by this desire; it would eventually drive me insane.

My mind void of thought in her presence.
It feels as though my heart is using my chest as a punching bag.
Somehow I managed to put together sentences.
From this day a beautiful friendship would ensue.

Through all of her struggles I remained by her side.
In me she confided her deepest secrets, to the grave I’ll take them.
With her I was, even when the reaper was the one she called her closest friend.
One day I would confess to her my love.
Despite being ever loyal, the feeling wasn’t mutual.

Months would pass by.
She would shed ocean after ocean of tears.
Lover after lover, they would all hurt her.
To them, infidelity was nothing.
She gave them her heart; I guess the feeling wasn’t mutual.
It should’ve been me; alas, the feeling wasn’t mutual.

The sun peeks through the cracks in my blinds.
Its warmth awakens me.
I rise for another day spent in a seemingly unbreakable cycle.
This street corner is almost a second home to me.
Never have I despised a residence as much as I do this one.

I stand on the corner beside the alleyway.
This is where I do business.
A customer approaches; with him comes the guilt I am burdened with every day.
He is gaunt, so thin the wind could blow him away, his hair resembling a wild dog.
I don’t want to sell to him but I must; my family needs food and jobs never call back.
I would die before I let my daughter starve.

“You got the stuff?”
Despite only saying four words, he told me a lot.
His voice is one full of pain, sorrow, and loss.
This powder he feels, is his only escape.
I take the money and place the bag in his hands.

As I close another deal, I can’t help but wonder what kind of man it makes me.
I put food on my family’s table by destroying someone else’s.
What kind of father does that make me?
I’ve never shot unless I had to but I’m sure my product has taken a life or two.

The ground beneath me is red; I wonder whose blood covers these bullet shells.
Those I sell to eventually become nothing but shells.
The guilt induced by the consequences of my line of work has turned me into a shell.

The birth of a child, I’ve always been told it was a joyous occasion.
In my youth I would’ve believed that to be so.
That naïve notion would die with time.

Upon entrance to this world I was called a bundle of joy.
Today I feel as if I’m merely a burden.
“I’m proud of the man you’re becoming”
Despite being said to me by those claiming to love me most, I know these words to be nothing but lies.

Some would tell me to believe it’s just tempers flaring.
I however, sense much more.
My siblings and I enter.
With her face being the stage a scowl takes the center, too disgusted with the crowd to even wave.
I can feel her disdain seep into the deepest crevices of my heart.
Bundle of misery seems to describe me more accurately.

She begins to speak; my name takes its usual place right beside the word useless.
Someone should’ve told me existing was a crime.
Even though I am told it was planned, I know for sure my conception was a whim of lust.
Bundle of joy, no, just a mistake.

Many have pondered life and what its purpose is.
I, however, have spent more time pondering what life would be like were I not in it.
Pondering purpose has never done much for me considering I am nothing more than a failure.
What purpose could there be for someone like me?

I aspire to better the entire world, yet I can’t even help those closest to me.
I could never meet them, so expectations are the bane of my existence.
Constantly falling short, my presence is nothing but a disappointment.
No matter my efforts, failure is destined.

The hand of guilt rests eternally on my shoulder.
Guilt for not being able to bring happiness to the ones I love.
Guilt self-directed for not being all I once dreamt of being.
Guilt for being a waste of time to everyone I’ve met.

Why should someone such as myself search for purpose?
Such an inquiry would only lead to further suffering.
It is time I accept the truth, that truth being that I am obsolete.