Why for some does it seem so easy?
This ******* life
This assortment of abominations
This constant parade of petty problems​
And inconsequential indignities
Bad relationships
Job losses
Loneliness
Drunken embarrassments
Heartache
Heartbreak
Or just simple ennui
For some it seems
Like a stroll
In the park
Endless sunshine
Never an empty pocket
Always happy
Always in love
Everyone in love with them
Or perhaps more importantly
Them loving themselves

I'm sure that it can't​
Really be this way
Perhaps they cry
Alone at night
In their lonely rooms
At presenting
Such a facade to the world
I prefer to think that
They simply don't feel
Cement, concrete
Cold ******* stone
But
We
Feel
Don't
We ?