Because. That's why.

Insufferable Peculiarity

The world is made of cancer,
Of tests, and fear, and sweat
And faith.
Or lack thereof.
Sporadic bouts of promise
Most often mixed with vomit
While everything from ages past
Means nothing on our tongues.
The world is made of cabinets,
Of closets, and secrets, and it
Wherever it shows a face.
A place to cry, to hide
To forsake for a few seconds blood
To misappropriate
And tell a child
The moon is made of cheese.