I think I write with hate.

There's no sunshine, or flowering fields when I'm create using words.

I'm nobody and you are all.

Still nothing moves me from my four walls.

There's no haven, all is doomed.

This moment and the next will be over to soon.

So when I write, my words are bold.

They curse and rhyme, but there's no a good time to read my gripe.

For my writes bear no light, no blue skies, no starry night's.

I must feel that awful hate in order to be talented...

In order to create.

In order to write.

There's no calm to this storm.

Not unless being numb is calm.

I lay with a shield, numb while the storm debris dance about me.

There's no fear, for I've got nothing to lose.

The storm is as common as my unsteady breath.

But I'm numb, lost inside my surrender.

It's in my abandoned hope, where I find calm to the storm.

I know not if this is my armor for battle, or my white flag and shovel.

You know, your not always right?

There's a chance that you don't know everything...

Your human, and it's distasteful for you to act otherwise.

I don't mind being wrong, but I mind your rudeness and your denial of the possibility of you being wrong.

I mind your arrogance and the tone you use.

I mind the ******* you become and the fight you want.

I mind even when you apologize for the argument and your explanation for you being wrong...

I'm human...

I can be wrong...

But there's a possibility I can be correct.

Or am I just so beneath you, that it doesn't matter?

Don't complain that we lack comunication.

Don't get ****** when I ignore you.

Sometimes I just want to be your equal.

Sometimes I refuse to listen to that displeasing tone.

There's a possibility that I'm wrong, but there's a bigger possibility that your just a ****.

I'm plenty weak.

I've been, plenty strong.

I've failed a few of the tests, and passed far to many to remember.

Each time you show up to bless or test me, I rise for the occasion.

My faith is strong, but I just said but...

My prayers every meal, and night are the same.

I pray for Strength, for myself and other's that we see and follow your path selflessly, regardless of the journey.

I pray that other's be more blessed then I, for I am stronger than I am weak.

I pray to thank you for all that we have.

We are BLESSED still...

I'm just concerned, because I know doubting you is a sin.

And even though I have faith...

I am stressing trying to live one day at a time.

I believe, but I'm afraid.

Wow...

I'm BLESSED, more than many...

I just realized that I to am selfish...

Why are my words cruel and unattractive?

Will I never write words of inspiration?

My words relfect me.

So why is it you don't think I'm ugly at the very least?

Shall I never shine?

Will my rhymes be anything more then awful times?

I seek a slick tongue which spread happiness and expresse love.

Nobody enjoys my rants.

They aren't written for that...

So whats the use of pain written on cue?

I'm but a waste, like my words and all the hate.

Will I ever rise from below?

Will I ever be able to let sweet words flow?

I don't know who I am any more.

With this creativity darkness is sure.

What comes with pure happiness is definitely unsure.

Bury this pen.

Bury me alive...

I'm not even worth this moment in time.

I'm corrupted by my past.

The only thing I have are words written with blood and a broken cast.

And depressing words vast.

And arranging hate in words vast.

This agitating feeling...

This explosive rage...

The heat of burning paranoia...

It's as a part of me as my skin.

Do you look through me, or not at all?

Cause my pain and frustration is deep and through out me.

Like a picture of a super hero or villian with sparks, glowing and all.

How come you don't see it?

Am I also cursed with invisibility?

My chests pounds as if my hearts trying to flee this evil.

I'd flee to.

Do you see this mania?

Do you see my curse?

Are my eyes not blackened and my beauty distorted?

Do the warnings not exist?

Or like me...

Do you not give a ****?

Evil doesn't wish to converse or share space.

Can't you see my horns, or the liquid tar color extending from me?

Are you blind to my torment?

Can you not understand the telepathic messages I've sent?

You can't heal me...

I'll consume your positivity and break your spirit.

Please just leave me alone.

There's no cure for me.

I'll reach out to you when the I'm me again, or someone other than this.

This agitating feeling...

This explosive rage...

The heat of burning paranoia...

It's as a part of me as my skin.

Do you look through me, or not at all?

Cause my pain and frustration is deep and through out me.

Like a picture of a super hero or villian with sparks, glowing and all.

How come you don't see it?

Am I also cursed with invisibility?

My chests pounds as if my hearts trying to flee this evil.

I'd flee to.

Do you see this mania?

Do you see my curse?

Are my eyes not blackened and my beauty distorted?

Do the warnings not exist?

Or like me...

Do you not give a ****?

Evil doesn't wish to converse or share space.

Can't you see my horns, or the liquid tar color extending from me?

Are you blind to my torment?

Can you not understand the telepathic messages I've sent?

You can't heal me...

I'll consume your positivity and break your spirit.

Please just leave me alone.

There's no cure for me.

I'll reach out to you when the I'm me again, or someone other than this.