The womb

The womb wraps
warm
and pulls
and smothers
its
child.
But I am
alone,
for I was born
cold
and my heart was drenched
in anxiety.
Doomed from the start.
What is happiness?
When I'm fucked-up?
No,
not even then.
For drugs
and alcohol
are
bandaids.
What is happy?
Am I happy?
I
want
to
die.