And in the 1am sounds of solitude, I seek redemption. I seek solace in the dusty covers of my books. I seek peace in the fresh linen of my bed, tear stained every morning.
My pillows hate me. They cant dry themselves any longer. They cant be savaged.
My mirror hates me, because every glance bears hatred towards the face I see. The broken face of a broken girl.
The alone face of a lonely girl.
The cracks slowly start to form, like plaster being broken down by moisture. They widen into gullies through which rivers of my tears flow and flow.
By shower hates me for all the pain it washes away and all the pain it cant wash away.
My phone hates me for all the ****** prose my fingers fumble to type.
I hate me.