They say, you would suffer and writhe in pain
Will get bruised, battered, but don’t ask for it to end
And someday these scars might become your veins

For how much have I sinned,
That the heavens beheld me with such open disdain
Filling my eternity with ghastly screams
of regretting over not being someone else
even discontenting over my very own existence.

Do they not see it’s not happiness I am after?
Just a little less pain, a little less wretchedness and despair
Or was I expecting too much of impossible things?

Not denying how much of a sinner that I am,
Many a times, just a craven abdicating moral onuses of a man
Have I changed for the better?
There’s still so much decadence within,
There's still so many ambiguous dreams
If only one could live this life slowly.