I'm a Wilted Rose

My inspiration it's dead now,
My writings are always ignored,
Even by best friends,
Who know I'm in love with poetry.
I give up on being a true poet,
My last poem will be this one,
My poetry sucks like hell,
I'll never reach my dreams,
My prayers for acknowledgment never existed in "God's" eyes,
This is my goodbye to writing,
Because my faith of becoming a published writer is gone,
Even my muse hasn't been helpful.
I'll never be as good as William was.
And even he gave up,
Even though he was amazing.
I'm giving up completely,
Because waiting for others to realize I exist,
Is like waiting for rain in Hell.
My inspiration is dead now,
It's completely left me,
I've dried up like a desert,
Never to water again.
Like a wilting rose,
I'll never recover my color.