A poem that ended up ripped somehow, but it seemed meaningful to me

TW: Self Harm, Suicidal thoughts

What am I even good for?

To contribute to a dying society that would rather me dead anyway?

To be subject to degrading, day in and day out, caused by myself and others.?

I just exist.

I don’t have a huge purpose, and a determined drive and motivation.

I domt have friends, I’m coming to terms with that.

I don’t even have a friend in myself. I hurt myself.

And I don’t know if I ever plan to stop.

I just exist.

I wake up, eat, follow orders, cry, and repeat.

I spend my days holding back tears, and my nights contemplating which outfits will hide my bloody shame.

Or I suck it up and stare at the ceiling in complete and utter numbness, so I don’t see or feel mine or anyone else’s disappointment.

Going to hospitals as a punishment, or a lesson. 

The only thing I’ve learned is that’s what I need, but the road to get there is too unbearable.

I was told that this is all just a false battle field, 

So why do these wounds hurt so badly?

Why are there grenades thrown my way on the daily?

Who is the one firing the canon as the rope burns slowly down to my demise,

My heart has dropped its weapon as I await my death.

(There’s more, but the paper was ripped, I can’t make out anything else. Though this poem is relatively old, I don’t feel like this, at least not this bad anymore.)