Self Hate



All the evil,
All the cruelties,
Are merely imagined by the delusional.
Fear is created by the brave.
All I see in this world 
Will disappear.
All that should be
Won’t.

Love is a four-letter word,
Like all the others.
The things and times of this place
Will go on just the same
Without me.

This was originally written in crayon at one of those restaurants that put paper on the table. I tried to write a typical "oh woe is me" poem and it turned out sounding pretty cool so I tore it out. Maybe its some subconscious thing, I don't know.

where now?

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