Pointless

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I'm not sure
There's much left
To hope for.
To live for.
To work towards.
It all seems
Pointless.
Like a gun
Without bullets.
A guillotine
Without a blade.
Except
Life without purpose
Is more deadly.
Lethal.
Tragic.
Than instruments of death
Without their required pieces.
Because purpose
Is required
To live.
So maybe.
I need to be the missing piece.
Maybe I need to be taken out.
Maybe
Maybe I am the blade on the guillotine.
Maybe I'm the bullet from the gun.
Maybe this is all In my head.
Maybe
That's the problem.

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