Gazing upon the heavens on this frigid night,

I begin to ask a series of questions.

Practically pleading that my assumptions are not right.

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As a star shoots cross the sky, I ask myself “Why is it that I cry?”

“Why can't I ever fully get over my such small pains?”

Receiving no answer, I think perhaps, I shouldn't be asking “Why?”

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But rather that I should be thinking, “How can I change it?”

The thing is that requires too much effort.

I cannot lay my burdens aside, I need all this shit.

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It defines who I am.

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All the memories of those I've lost,

guide my morals of the past and present.

Maybe I'm a parasite looking for a host.

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Maybe I'm a lot weaker than I've always assumed.