Everything Do

It seems
upon reflection
everything I do is wrong.
In some cases,
it takes some thought to see
the errors in my actions,
the failure in my life,
but it is always there
shadowed, subtle,
waiting to pounce
at its eventual opportunity.

If I sit and read,
I should be exercising.
If I perform,
I am greedy.
If I stop harassing those sweet young girls
I leave myself lonely,
alone, unloved.

When I go to a help a friend
in his own personal crisis,
I am supporting the First World Dynasty,
selfishly supporting the existing hegemony
instead of jetting to Africa
and protesting the mining of blood diamonds
(and when I fly to Africa like that,
I’m contributing to climate change.
Oi, it’s a mess).

There is no winning.
Everything I do causes suffering,
produces shame.
The world is not ready
for me to make decisions
or act in any way.

Perhaps it would be better
just to die.

Except…

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