I am worthless.
Unimportant to anything.
I can't forgive myself for what I've done.
I don't understand who i am.
I can't be happy
My past is my present.
I am a digusting freak who cares only but myself.
I don't know how to make friends.
I don't know how to make good decisions.
What am I ?
I am ugly.
I am stupid
I am in considerent
I am someone who deserves to go to hell
I want to die.
No one likes me for being me.
I hate myself.
People hate me.
Maybe it's just better if I actually die.
People would be celebrating when I do.
No, they won't even know I died.
"Roses are red, Violets are Blue..
God made me perfect, what happened to you?"
YOU ARE READING
Memories of a Distant Past
Poetrymem·o·ry ˈmem(ə)rē/ something remembered from the past; a recollection. "one of my earliest memories is of sitting on his knee"
