Misery before death

Some of us were meant to live a miserable life and die alone. I use to think if I work hard and be nice to people maybe, just maybe I’d have some sort of hope in this world, but instead I am miserable, alone and almost out iof hope. Burying myself with work only worked for so long. Poetry only gave me a tomorrow,  but one run’s out of words and the pain and suffering is hard to endure. The last few years have been challenging, thoughts of suicide constant and love has been obscure and friends have almost disappear. Phoenix Arizona is now a true desert for me. College is also fucked up. When I am an anomaly in this world I think I should be removed. No one will really care. The ones that might. Don’t care right now.