What is so wrong with me?

What is so wrong with me

that the fire of change burns and burns

and never ceases, never turns?

What is so wrong with me

that the  stormy seas rage and rage

and never cease, never calm?

What is so wrong with me

that the wretched winds of time

cannot bestow on me a simple second of happiness? 

Is it that the fire enjoys pain?

Does it lap up tears like an angry desert?

Does it dwell in black sorrow and thrive?

Is it that the sea revels in distress?

Does it joy at the screams of broken sailors?

Does it value surrender and weakness?

Or is it that the winds have nothing else to do?

Do they adore the implausible and impossible?

Do they worship unfairness and injustice? 

Who are they: fire, sea, wind?

Nature? Nurture?

Tremulous torture?

Three spirits of havoc;

three demons of despair?

Who am I?

Why do I care?

What is so wrong with me that I cannot be

who I believed I was meant to be?

What is so wrong with me that I seem unable to see

who I believed I was meant to be?

Why? Who? What?

What is so wrong with me?