Title: Hatred. Apathy. Blood.

I hate myself.
A sigh,
A weakness,
A defining thought.

Hate exists because of love.
Loving what I was,
Loving what I would be,
Loving of myself no more.

In my hatred my feelings are dead.
I feel nothing,
I feel emptiness,
I feel naught but hate.

Apathy sinks its teeth in me.
Being numbed,
Being smothered,
Being killed from within.

Pain rouses my emotions from slumber.
Awareness of my existence,
Awareness of the void within me,
Awareness of my leftover humanity.

Self-inflicted wounds works just as well.
Capable of feeling something,
Capable of waking from this nightmare,
Capable of living life for a fleeting moment.

There's blood on my hands.
Who caused this to happen?
Who does this blood belong to?
Who else but me, myself and my razor...

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Just a poem I wrote recently, think what you wish, infer what you can, decide what you must, feel what you would, judge what you want and I'll reap what I sow...

Labels: poems