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