There was a time
when you hadn't a clue;
now you gasp in horror,
and sob.

As if you hadn't made me this way.
As if you hadn't told me I was worthless.

Did I fight back?
Yes.
I took out my swords and shields,
and enacted war
on myself.

And you didn't know.
All that time, and you didn't know.
Well now you know.

Your ever presence sends a wave of revulsion
through my mutilated body.
Your voice has become the infuriating car alarm
that seems to strategically go off
at 2am.
Your arrogance instigates the razors
hidden under my mattress.

But I love you.

You cannot fathom the amount that I love you.
Because you tolerate me,
and my ever-changing outlook.
You understand that pain allows me to express
the words I will never say.

But I hate you.
And I sit here,
involuntarily,
with a maddening blank stare,
itching to scream,
"Frankly, my dear, I don't give a ****."
And I'll run through the fog for the rest of my life,
if it means being rid of you.
I hate you.


Don't leave me.