The paradox of selfish desire

Why?

Why do we accept anything and everything when we know it's a lie?

Why is it enough to just barely try?

Why do we feel life is about scraping by,

if everything is just another thing that we simplify?

Or when we are happy, we only seek to intoxicate—

to numb the edge, to dull the light.

Everything rhymes with "I,"

perhaps because human nature is just that:

being so selfish that you can't see anything past your own life, your own eye.

It's always me, me, I, I.

But we want "we."

We want support.

We want everything to indemnify.

Yet all we choose is "I."

The end is nigh.

I can't stand for another lie.

I can't entertain anything other than my heart's desire.

I am me.

I am I.

And I choose not to give an eye for an eye.