Time and time again,
I feel I've reached the end,
A kind of deep dark hollow,
Which self-pity soon doth follow.
I feel like a piece of ****
Useless material , disposed seen fit.
So many stones I've left unturned,
So many bridges I shouldn't have burned,
What is the point of this thing called life?
All I see is pain and strife,
Though sometimes...
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