Is it my destiny?

What is it about me to make people hate me?
Is it my personality, my face,
Or my worthless waste of space?

I try my best to fit in, but I know I never will.
Because, try as I might, all this pretending makes me ill.
This sickening society, always pretending, never doing,
Don’t they see that all of this will just lead to their undoing?
This world saddens me so, so miserable yet happy
These contradictions never ending just won’t stop me feeling crappy

So many times I have wished that I would die,
But instead I’m sitting here, and asking myself “Why?”

Why is it that I’m alive, whilst so many people die?
Why is it that people treat me this way,
Just ignoring me as they pass by?
Why must I endure so much pain,
When everyone lives in happiness?

Is it my destiny?
Or is it some sort of sick joke by a sadistic Creator?
To live eternally in misery: as a payment for some unknown sin

Forever, I shall remain, contemplating my existence
Just as many others like me that make up the silence
Where those of us, forgotten, shall linger in the darkness
And forever question why,
A never-ending cry.
Sick with solitude and despair
Waiting to finally die.