...or did you loathe it?

Times when my soul is shrowded in some sort of bitterness, a hate that I can't even begin to comprehend looms over my it's a small world after all.. that is when I ramble into my invisible tin can. "It scares you, I know, I saw you flinch as you read it, I saw the hurt look on your face." It creates a little echo, that only I can hear.. my little tin can feels nothing, these words mean little to an imaginary Universe.

you can't even touch
the hopelessness that i feel
and i don't want you to
because it's mine..
it's all i have

they say that you need love
that it will save you
through the good times and the bad
but love breeds hate
and hate sells death

so if you don't mind
i'll stay here alone
i don't need your 'comforting arms'
they're like an iron vice
crushing me slowly

You. Know. I don't speak a damn bit of Russian. I. Know. You don't speak a damn word of French. I want to get tangled up in words and string. I want to fall down your front step and break every bone in me, down to the fingers and toes. I want to do something so foolish and wicked you’ll be sorry I ever was born. I want to wish I never met you. And you want to kiss me on the forehead and go home early.

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