Hard being me.

why do I feel like this? empty, bleak, dull. it's hard being me, but I shouldn't be selfish. I have a house, food, water, what more could I need? it feels wrong to feel pain, wrong to bleed. people have it worse than me, I shouldn't complain, about the scars I have, or the eternal pain. there are children without parents, without friends, but sometimes I wish I could be like them. it's just so hard, and it feels wrong. so instead I'll keep quiet, and carry along.