I don’t like life
It hurts too much
What is the point of living if I can’t do such and such?
Why am I here?
Why do I live?
What does a person like me have to give?
What is the point of carrying on?
So I can sit and write you more depressing songs?
Or tell me please… am I wrong?
Filed under poetry
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Ellen Grace Olinger
Passion for writing ignites my soul's momentum
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