The way I love the world is a selfish kind of
Metaphor I suppose
I search out all the lies like
Love songs are written by fools
Time is best spent on ourselves
A different side doesn't matter
There are a lot of others detailing the * waste* of human effort
On what?
The silly things
The things and thoughts that matter
I love the world in an unusual way
By noting the cynical views
And where they are wrong
and where they are right
But it turns me darker and darker
Then I crack open a book
And imagine that world
And how there is definitely someone like me there
I love the world in a strange way
I desperately grasp the strings of hate and twist it inside of me
Until I am consumed
Sometimes it feels like an endless black hole
That ****** in the thin film of hope
Never to be seen again
But who knows if black holes even exist?
**Can it all just not exist?