I am the being filled with hate; the hate-monger they stare at and they dissipate.
I am scattered on the floor, they realize it’s me but I feel as if I can’t be this being anymore.
So lost just to be found and hated by thy self.
I hate thy self, thy hate-monger.
I found happiness in a little black river,
the river I drown my sorrows in and collect the little pebbles of hate that rest against the gentle bay of the deep dark little black river.
I quiver with the thought of not being able to hate, it’s all that I have become to know, all that I have ever known.
I live the day’s as a shadow, casting upon every wall, I am every shadow on every wall, this is how I live.
I seek for comfort, seek for sleep, but nothing comes just the hate that seeps, seeps through my vein’s and causes terror again, inflicting horror, inflicting pain.
I’m on this hate rampage again.
I feel desolate in a place filled with many, my eyes observe the room with a strong aversion to the ******* of other eye’s meeting mine, they entwine like ruby red vines stretching across my many shadows on the walls that I claim to be mine.
They are many, but many of them that are not mine.
Thoughts course through my brain waves like the on going tick of a grandfather clock, the clock is forever going, it never stops.
Its tick urges me to speak, but no words will utter a sound, they are filled with maniacal yet tedious comfort that I am not the only hate-monger who hates.
We all hate and live to hate and judge for no reason, why we do these things we shall never know. Out of human nature we are all looked at as animals eating the dead carcasses left as scraps for the maniac animals we are.
We are hate filled animals, and one by one they will put us all down.