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Bipolar Hypocrite
Poems
Oct 2014
Devil
Everyone hates me.
They think I'm the bad guy.
I'm the hater.
The negative vibe.
The one who kills.
The Devil.
They don't think I have feelings.
They think I don't care,
That I
like
being here.
That it
doesn't
**** me
To have Satan as father.
Do you think I'm proud
That he was banished from heaven?
That I like
Watching people suffer?
Death is not my specialty-
It never was.
I pray secretly
For a better life.
Helping, apparently,
Is a sin.
The smell of demise
Leaves me melancholy.
My tears
Are tattooed on my face.
These harsh words
Have been engraved onto my skin.
I have never been happy
With a sinner for a dad.
How can I pray to God,
When he is the spoken enemy?
How can I hope
When it has been crushed by all his followers?
I don't have friends-
They're all scared of me.
I have only lived to see
Fear.
No one has ever loved these red eyes.
Red from crying.
Red from hurting.
Red from a broken heart.
I can only write my ache.
But no matter how I try,
No one can relate.
Or care.
The worst kind of pain
Is the one that cannot be described.
That's me,
The indescribable agony.
Written by
Bipolar Hypocrite
In Crazy.
(In Crazy.)
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