Existence, the thing we call being

How great is it to be

I see many people being ok with way they are

But I don’t have that luxury

No matter what star I wish upon

Things are the way they are

I am not ok with my being

My existence is dark

It is plagued with the bad that I think

Evil thoughts from my heart

Each one as black as ink

There is no point, there is no escape

I cannot blink, I must stay awake

The sleep is forever, there is no morning

The type of rest I need will only bring mourning

Dawn is not insight only dusk and night

My existence is nothing but a dreary blight