Why bother, why not?

Please, do not misunderstand this;
my relationship with mortality is comfortable.
I possess no fears of death,
nor do I worry about facing the progressive
and obvious onslaught of dying.
My worries reside in the act of living.

It poses too many questions
for me
to chew on at any one time.
The uncertainties and the inevitable changes;
they are just fine
waiting around the corner.

What doesn’t sit well
is the common sense knowledge
that almost everything is awry.
There are no logical reasons
behind the causes of frustrations:
Surely no one can gain
from this environment?

So tell me, as I swallow a tramadol,
light a cigarette and sink another beer,
why this need for escapism?
Why do I constantly feel the need
to stop everyone and burn their eardrums
with the simple things that would help us pass
peacefully,
and if not peacefully,
then respectfully.

Why do I bother,
why do I never really try?