The Human Condition

The air is being sucked out of my lungs My head is bombarded by a thousand shards of glass There is no refuge to rest my weary bones The angst of my supposedly beloved is fuelling my anxiety In my mind my only rest exist underneath the ground I have become Hamlet in this tragic tale Goodness is just an illusion, a hallmark apparition Selflessness is really selfishness; people own wants and needs are paramount in their hearts Right gives way to base desire, a veracious appetite forever lusting for more Hope is like a distant star visible but impossible to reach has our morality has been reduced to resemble a virus, devouring everything in its path Is this condition the permanent face of humanity?