The Hatred

In the back of my mind

There's an echo

Dead and lonely

Feathery death

Welcomes my call

For icy loneliness.

Though not even death

Cures my agony

As the continuous words

Scorn my fragile being,

How I hate them

With a deep, dark

Animosity, billowing up

From the depths

Of my charred black soul.

Do they ever rest?!

Do they ever leave?!

Why is it that

They must

Rip my confidence to shreds,

Discard my pride,

Toss aside my strength

And kill my excitement

To leave me helpless,

And barely aliveā€¦?