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Hatred of Self

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My insides are burning,
and there is no water here.
The twisted guts and the acidic blood,
are tempting my mind,
tempting the attempt,
and shooting my tongue with hearts.
The way your words flow through my body,
are like fluffy stars shooting across a liquid sky.
She moves along the line of love and hate,
and she won't forgive the greatness of my admiration.
The way your hair falls along your back,
and the fake upset smile you give me,
and the way you tell me it'll be okay,
as if its not a lie.
Being away this long is slow torture,
and being away this long is a lovely tune.
The scar of my hat stays along my mind,
and the Hate of the scar stays along my viewers.
But nobody's to blame for the hatred of self,
for the self blames the hatred,
and the hatred blames her for the mental illness of me.
She calls me on my cellular device in the middle of the night,
and yells in my ear,
worthless,
UN-BEAUTIFUL,
scarred,
STUPID,
emotional,
PROBLEMED,
the center of the problem.
The court makes me feel all right,
and the jem isn’t anything but a beautiful shoulder.
My life is a cage and there is no key to the lock of solitude,
the lock holds me back from all things I love,
and the things I love hold me back from the things I cry,
and you hold me back from the deepening hole of depression,
the one I always slip into when I think too much.
Please hold me accountable for all that I am,
but I do not appreciate your lies of my life that ruin my soul.





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