i hate it here where
everybody hates me
behind boarded windows
where ghosts chase me
i hate it here where
everybody hates me
trapped in thoughts
those that now scare me
i hate it here where
everybody hates me
here in this empty room
where silence shapes me
i hate it here where
everybody hates me
made in tears and now
an ocean drapes me
lonely as i suffer and no
one's there to wake me
caught in war as their
armies invade me
i hate it here where
everybody hates me
i hate it here where
everybody hates me
i hate it here
everybody hates me.
poetry is a labour of love, but love isn't hope, or light, it can be dark and cruel and inflict conflict in its mayhem and leave bones and forests in it's path.. but what it truly is, is a gateway, from me to you, and to the universe, the language of gods and mortals alike, it is the river that feeds the benign existence, and give life to the corpses circling the purgatory, it is what you want it to be, and it's yours forever to keep and breathe and whisper.