What Am I

I hate people, that have a purpose in life...
because i have none,
i am simply wasted space...
i am only proof of a drunk woman,
and a condom break...
Everyday i wake,
and i ponder a question about my fate...
What Am I Here For??
my mothers anger outlet?
my boyfriends booty call?
2 lungs that shouldn't be breathing?
with no one to catch me when i fall?
every one feels rejoice at one point or another...
but in the end,
no one has direction...
no one has a calling...
cause in the end of time...
all we are is falling