Old poem. No title.
Being alive isn’t fun Still alive because I didn’t fire the gun
Once the shot is fired I will be admired
No one wants you to exist You’re dismissed
Death is the end of living Even if we’re unforgiving
It’s already too late Soon I’ll desiccate
No one knows their fate I’ve only learned how to hate
Hate makes the world go round Hate will bury me into the ground