Running away from both the living and the dead.
It would be preferred to not have existed.

The present stage of life feels well-worn,
Yet the next is constantly dreaded.

Disappointment, with its companion failure,
Like lugging around a ton of bricks.

Why does it take time to know ones purpose?
Continuously trying to find a path.

It all would be easier if it was known from the start.
But it wouldn't be life if it were easy.