Life!
Our morose step mum
With her dicey dreary days
Delightful of our pikle

She,
Is eternally incomplete
Sapping our strength, in looking for her missing piece.
And when luck helps us find the piece,
There comes the demand for more.

Her,
Inside feels brutal
Even when fabulous from the outside.
While In her entirety
She's at all not friendly

She,
Makes loneliness taste sweet
To keep the corporeal at bay
Wafting in otherworldly ethereal
All entirely housed in the head.
Making loners out of visionary men.

This,
was neither meant to be a poem
Nor any form of a literary verse
But rather a flow of midday whinge
From a soul enraged with it's step mum!

Who will save us from life?
Death, may be.
Or better decisions, I presume mostly.
But she bullies our decisions too!