Why am I not satisfied?

Why am I not enough?

I bet there's nothing wrong with me. I bet I'm just faking it. But it's so funny, do I want my own pity?

Maybe there's nothing inherently flawed in me—just a facade I paint for myself. 

A tragic comedy, seeking my own sympathy, relishing the spotlight of a main character in my own drama. 

Does that fleeting sense of importance bring solace?

Sometimes I wish this life would end. I feel like I got it all wrong since the beginning.

My first foot. Right from there.

This is all because of a wrong start. I can't do anything right because I started out wrong.

But what about others?

I don't care about them. I want to be better. I want to do things differently...live differently.

But it's not possible now, so, even if this life ends, I shall have no regrets IF.... if I'm given another.