I feel the hatred
dripping from my lips.
I hate that you made me feel like this.
As it cascades from my head
to my hand,
washing away the pain
the way the ocean
cleanses words in the sand.
And just when I feel
I’m on the very brink—
it flows
from my hand
to the pen...
and I transform it to ink.
The hatred
spews out effortlessly.
Why the hell
did you do this
to me?
I wanted to love you.
I didn’t want this.
But it’s too late now—
you’ve touched me
with hatred’s kiss.
But if I hate you,
then riddle me this:
When I see a shooting star...
why is it still
for you
I wish?
Aug 17, 2025
Aug 17, 2025 at 10:55 PM UTC
I feel the hatred
dripping from my lips.
I hate that you made me feel like this.
As it cascades from my head
to my hand,
washing away the pain
the way the ocean
cleanses words in the sand.
And just when I feel
I’m on the very brink—
it flows
from my hand
to the pen...
and I transform it to ink.
The hatred
spews out effortlessly.
Why the hell
did you do this
to me?
I wanted to love you.
I didn’t want this.
But it’s too late now—
you’ve touched me
with hatred’s kiss.
But if I hate you,
then riddle me this:
When I see a shooting star...
why is it still
for you
I wish?
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