Sometimes
I wished god actually existed
So when I die
I can walk up to that self righteous egotistical ******* and ask just what the literal **** he thinks he is doing

Human life is such a fickle thing
We come
We go
Most of us without even being noticed by the masses

But does that matter?
In the grand scheme of things,
Does my mother overdosing on drugs
When I was only 13
******* matter?

My grandmother,
The one woman in my family I could call family and be proud to do so
Thrice stricken with cancer
On her final battle
Dying.

Does it matter?

To a stranger walking past the home she used to occupy
No, the thought of a woman who carried the weight of an entire family on her shoulders yet still taking the time to acknowledge my existence.
no
It doesn't matter to them.

But to me
To me it is everything

The memory of them fades as time goes on, but the pain is always there.
Keeping a stranglehold on a dark corner of my heart.