If you really knew me,
you'd know that I hate myself
that behind the music of my conceited mind
the heart strums a separate tune
like the secrets of self hate an image
behind a broken mirror
glued together with tears
if you really knew me,
you'd know that I hate who I am.
I hate that my mind knows what is right
and what is wrong
yet I choose the rocky path to go along
and every rock is another bad decision made
until I decide to turn around when its too late
but if you really knew me,
you'd know that I sit at a small round table
just above my hell
surviving only with EarlGreyTea and poetry
coping, desperately hoping, that my fragile plastic chair wont break
so until you really know me,
shut the **** up