Why?

Why do good things take so long to die? How Come once they're gone I feel like so am I? As if I exist only for their sake, Not real merely fake. Do I not stand alone? Why does your demise also have to be my own? Have I always been just this? Not a person but an appendage? Is this like they say about in the Bible? Something less communal a bit more tribal? Am I a lamb or a sheep? Am I awake or asleep? Why can I feel if there's only pain? Why can I sing or dance only in the rain? Why does my happiness belong to everyone but me? Why give me eyes but not let me see? Where exactly is all of this going? Just what is it you're reaping if I'm what you're sowing?