Growing Pains

The emptiness I feel inside
Is more than one
Can describe.

Taunted by the day,
Finding only a false
Comfort, by night.

What pains shall continue
Its endless torment?
No more I fear,
I can endure.

What is it to live?
What is it to die?
What is this place that we call home?

An existence:
So trivial—so trite.

And for what
Do we stand?
But for our own
Selfish desires.

No escape—
From the daily grind:
To thrive, to strive,
the weakness, the drive
Only grows weary.

The outcome seems bleak.