Ever so frequently I find
Living is nothing but a sickness!
On which I constantly yearn
That life is all but a dream.
My wish for life's end
Weighs heavier than my desire to live.

The way of life I want
Is a far cry from reality.
Ever so often
Had I questioned God, "Why?"
But in all honesty
I knew the answer all along!

Despite all my shambled self
I cling on to one thing;
This tangled mess of a life I live
Would have been indomitable,
Had it not been for my faith
In the 'Man Upstairs'; My reason of being.

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