Poetry

“Hopeless Misanthrope”

I gave up before I even began.

If it doesn’t matter and I make peanuts,

Then who gives a damn if I’m well-traveled?

I’m stuck in the desert with triple-digit temperatures

While they’re off-the-grid hunting for buried treasure.

I’m over here dying from an anxiety attack

While they’re functioning human beings abroad

Who never want to come back.

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