It seems impossible to articulate The specific degree of hate I feel for what I'm not My musings leave me distraught I feel unable to change my fate.
I fear becoming the person Who's mind just seems to worsen That has lost the ability to grow Creativity under the nuclear snow Swept away by fear and coercion
I look now at what I've created The only one by whom I'll be berated Sees only mediocrity I already regret this atrocity I'll only ever hate it
Constructive criticism appreciated. I hate feeling uncreative, and I suppose this was just my attempt to create something for the sake of proving that I can.