Every day, I wake up feeling older.
I sit up, sleep molding in with caution.
Before I am completely aware and alert,
Honesty jolts through my body.
Only one second every day,
I feel like I’ve seen too much,
Like I am too worn, too tired,
On the brink of death.
I see a disgusting jungle that never seems to end,
Rather than the small, comforting world that I dream in,
Live in,
Wake up in.
Every day,
People wake up with me.
They eat,
They work,
They breathe,
They think.
Some will open their eyes for the first time,
And others will die.
Some will hurt,
And some will heal.
Some will love,
But others will live alone.
Tragedy always overshadows us.
It’s something people will argue about.
What is true tragedy?
Do you know it when you feel it?
Do you fail to forget it?
Do we try to ignore it?
Just to keep sleeping,
Breathing,
Loving,
Healing,
Just to move on?
Some mistake tragedy for cause and effect.
If you do drugs, you might die young.
If you stand in a battlefield, you might get shot.
Although these things still shock you,
They were expected.
You knew they could happen,
The chance was likely.
But what about the little girl with leukemia?
Or the man who fell and went into a coma?
The sad mother who had a miscarriage.
The guy who was robbed and murdered on the subway by a stranger.
Some things don’t have to happen,
But they do anyway.
Tragedy doesn’t reason,
It won’t ask karma whether or not the target is worthy.
It’s always here, but we automatically know to ignore it.
Nothing will happen to us.
We didn’t do anything.
There’s a one in a billion chance,
Right?
The jolt of honesty every morning,
Simply tells me that I’m wrong.
