The bird and the worm

They're trying to be nice, they really are. They just don't get it. They don't understand the pain. They don't hear the voice. They are better than me, just for existing. I am a worm surrounded by birds. And they're all hungry. All the time. Which is particularly sad because I love birds. But I guess I always love the things that hurt me. And the voice won't stop. And the birds keep pecking. But I keep squirming and squirming. I try to tunnel deep under the Earth and stay there, safe. But I always have to come back up when it rains. No matter what, I squirm back up to the surface to breathe, even though I know it might kill me. I open up my heart again for those around me. And just like every time they peck me, and peck me until I tunnel back down. Further down than the last. Until one day, it rains again, like normal. Although this time, I don't come back up. I stay down and let the water drown me. "Why am I doing this?" I ask myself, "I want to go back up, maybe this time they won't peck me!" I try to convince myself, because my brain knows what's best, but my heart weighs me down. I should go up to breathe, but the pain, and the rain only lasts for so long, and the birds just don't like me. They will never like me. I watch as it becomes harder to breathe, and the water fills in my lungs. "Maybe I deserve this?" I tell myself, "They must have had a reason to peck me anyways." I close my eyes and embrace death. Fade into nothing. Fade into black. In a world where you're nothing but prey, you're just waiting for death. You have no life; you have no choice.