I look at you and hate the thing I see;
But nay, my eyes mark not a single flaw,
For it's my heart that loathes you faithfully,
That you be cursed--but why? I do not know.
My ears would not shut out your pleasant voice;
My skin, purge the thought of your gentlest touch;
I won't, by taste or smell, had I the choice
To be with you, indeed, would be too much.
What point is wit or sense to pen this hate,
Which fails in most disgust yet I persist;
My airy rhymes and thoughts remain dead weight;
But in these words sublime, you, scorned, exist.
         Love is blind, fools say; hate, with just one eye;
         The other wide to blithely watch him cry.

My very first sonnet! Waharharhar.XD In your face, Shakespeare!

I've been suffering from severe depression lately. (Nay, melancholia, not depression.:p) Can't think, can't write, can't cartwheel and hoola-hoop. It's the hormones, see, they tend to plunge into the dead center of the universe sometimes.

Word Up

Word did you say?

« I'm not dead yet. :: An If-Only-I-Had-A-Cigarette Moment »