Existence (Pop poetry)

So what, this is what they call life,
Stuck in a system, making all these decisons,
Never knowing if I’m right?
Stuck in a prison for the mental,
Contemplating who I am on most occasions
And feeling left out because with conversations I’m so basic?
Like, depression the ever pervading state of mind,
Stuck on a steep climb
To a summit that leads to nothing but the
Bittersweet assumptions of those long gone,
Sad AF but still wanting to keep mine?
Attached to a, morbid sense of self
Blinded by, a skewed sense of wealth
Where, my happiness is a sadness intermingled
With all kinds of substances for me to feel fine?
Like wine, Chardonnay, vodka and that market place ,
Smiling in all y’all faces . but deep down, I’m going insane?
Why didnt having it all make me happy,
Why didn’t the feeling of been at the epitome of existence make me above average?
Like busy af, tryna maintain
that lil bit of luck that
Amount to much and got me to know such and such,
And to a point can take a bite too much.
Of that pie and that real life, like taking the big slice,
It’s all mine.