Why Am I Alive

I tire often, of my broken inner diatribe, the simple, painful four word question of "why am I alive?"
Every lung of oxygen taken is just the body's obligation, and every kindness I give is one that was, from me, once taken; now twice returned.
See, at work I'm a machine, I am maintained, contained, restrained. I have a purpose, I have a plan, I do not stand idly by; i stand and fan the flames ans the motivation and that drive my team like a train.
Yet I get home, and feel like I'm a scam. I'm lifeless, bland... I breathe here the same stale air, fulfill the oxygen obligation.
So why then, am I alive, a shell?
I'm alive because wings found me on the way down. I'm alive because something in me died.
I'm alive because I have places to go, people to meet, sunsets and sunrises to see.
I'm alive because I want to kiss beneath the moon.
I'm alive because somewhere there is always going to be somebody who needs me.
I'm alive because my nephew needs to see me be.
I'm alive because my son couldn't be.
I'm alive because my Aunt Jean would want me to be.
I have to be alive, because so many want me to be.
I need to stay alive, they want me to be.
I want to stay alive... just not always for me.
I need to stay alive to repay the people who have been kind.

I'm alive to be kind, I have to stay alive to be kind.
I'm alive because someone spoke to me kind... and I don't know how to thank that someone for keeping me alive.
I am alive because someone was kind when I needed it most, someone was kind enough to say they loved the words I wrote.
So be kind and speak kind... otherwise the space before you could be... would be, blank.