Give up.

Give up there's no point to any of it anyway.
Engulfed by the combativeness of it.
This reason to get older has gone so where the fuck are you old friend death. 
If you wanted me alive then why take away the meaning for my existence, no one appreciated my comprehension anyway. 
My craftsmanship is not vital.
My cultural and social beliefs are not specific enough not to give them away. 
Cut back, didn't feel like a tall poppy, cut across then a cut and thrust just hurry up and cut me down. 
This dead duck this dead born this dead end, sick of decaying slowly fed up with the digress just allow this discard of my worthless breath. I give up so hurry up and claim me from pain.