Life is scary. You know?

Not the kind of scary you get from horror movies or a haunted house.
Not the kind of scary like when you think you forgot your keys locked in the car.
Not the kind of scary like when you think one of your friends finally decided to leave this world for good.
Not the kind of scary that is sharp needle point followed by the release of realization.

No.
Life is not that kind of scary.

It's the kind of scary that follows you closely.
It's the kind of scary that shakes you awake at night just to let you stare back at its void.
It's the kind of scary that sits on your shoulder and taunts you for every waking second that it can take you when it pleases.
It's the kind of scary that pulls your blood from your arteries.
It's the kind of scary that revels in the sight of your tears.

It's the kind of scary that lingers, persists, torments, and never, ever leaves.

There's a bird
In the sky.
Look at him fly.
Why?

With all the trouble
In this place,
I hesitate
To turn my face.

When fleeting pleasure
Lasts so short a time,
I cannot help
But weep and whine.

What is the purpose
Of our life?
Of this pain,
Of this strife?

Will it matter ?
If I live?
If I die?
If I give?
If I cry?

Will it matter?
If I stop my pace
And give this bird
My solemn face.