I could've been born from pain. I could've been conceived in hate. I could’ve been created with a craving in my veins. Consider me lucky, in a cold and callous world, consider me lucky. I could've been raised knowing nothing but war, trafficked in a world we abhor, or forced from home only to wash lifelessly ashore. For all that could've been I still sleep through days and squander nights too insecure to take the reigns or aspire to great heights. Painfully aware that everything I cling to will be torn away. One single moment, it could all end. In one single moment it will all end. All the could've beens will be no more. There will be no alternate realities to explore. I'm lucky to have known so little woe, but can't escape the shame of the world’s pain that I'm lucky enough to ignore. In one single moment it will all end.