I question my behaving,
raise my brow
at my own caving
to the flaws I need to outgrow.

In my genes I carry sickness,
in my skull there is a thickness,
blocking the lowering of a rotten tendency,
my *** and skin dependency.

I have lots to learn,
lots to concern
on my path to being better.

I'll keep doing what I can.

That being said, this time we mourn
for the loss of life,
a loss, unnecessary,
making many weary.

I, inclined to keep it shut, found that
unjust, in ways like the killing that occurred.
The worries of the world, as (well as) its economy,
came crashing down on me,
when I read online about wars, riots, disease and
infectious poverty.

I close my eyes, imagine hunger,
imagine pain, imagine gain,
imagine loss or it impending,
as my nerve endings are sending
signals to above, to rain down on and sifle
through my spine.

The frisson is not the kind that makes my senses cheer,
I know, as I ask myself:
Where do we go from here?