Why do I feel let-down and betrayed?

Why do I envy the person who will lose his undeserved prize?

Why do I feel like I’ve been robbed, when I had nothing to begin with?

Why is it, when she says nothing, I hear nothing but lies?

Why do we speak so comfortably whilst sitting as stiff as corpses?

Why do we try to look like ice, when, inside, we’re brightly burning torches?

Why do we pretend we understand when we barely caught the fifth word?

Why am I destined to never find someone as rare as I?

Why does she find no one but retched, worthless curs?

Why couldn’t she have been born a boy?

Why can I only admire her for her mind?

Why can’t I tell her everything…

Instead of only in rhyme?