untilted

(Before you read this I want you to know this was written like 10 years ago when I was in a very dark place)

With this pass time of hatred I will paint my once clean life with red lines of dread and black streaks that flow like rivers, every line that rains for pain will stain the very fabric of this fucked up life while every streak plays to the misery of damnation and shards of life flicker from gaping slashes of destruction. No one will know of the suffering in dark and twisted dreams from a heart as dark as the blackest coal laid to burn but never quite getting the satisfaction.
My pass time of hatred bleeds through the gashes of hope that I do not intend to disinfect but do fully plan to itch with split fingernails that ooze gross Puss of failure as they tear apart the stitches of love to play in the rotten decay of its lie. Now ready to paint with its awaited pain. My angered hatred bears the burden of once loved pieces of life that just will not stop bleeding but for whatever reason still keep living. Hatred finds joy in knowing that if thrown hard enough every chunk can be reduced to simple lines and streaks for the art that will not be seen.