Metaphysical mess that I'm trying to figure out...

This city is home no more. There isn't a single thing in this city that is disappointing. Yet I am restless... What am i doing here? I don't belong. The more I stay here the more the wildness within me dies. As I grow older I begin to bury the truth under layers of cynicism and supposed wisdom. The fire within me is fading. Passion replaced by pragmatism. Is life to be lived within the secure confines of ignorance, surviving from day to day, afraid of change, under the disillusion that true satisfaction can be bought, ignoring one's conscience in the false belief that problems sort themselves out. Is life to be lived in surviving? Does living mean satisfying all our senses? Or does it mean debating and understanding the pertinence of existence. I am not satisfied by consumerism. Nothing the market has to offer tempts me. I am selfish. I need to be...and yet, so is everybody else. Is survival the sole basis of existence. Why this life? Why these problems? Why this suffering to those so innocent? What are they being punished for? Is there any justice? Why death, to so many who haven't begun living? Is learning important? Shouldn't I be given a chance to learn from my own death? Do I even matter?... This world is home no more... yet I am determined to try... to try living my way. Is that whats important?