Desgustingness of my existance

Once more the pain of the unberable past

aches on my chest.

But now the past is present and the pain is just more pain.

Pathetic existence that I so hard try to justify and pitty.

The desgustingness of the existense I try to fake

just to realise that the empty shell is still and empty shell.

Like a pathetic newborn that cryes, revolving in his own piss and shit and puke.

The revolution of failure and repulsion for the reflexion that is still what was,

while you rejoice in the indifferense of my pain.

And the more I think the more the repulse grows for self-pitty is desgusting on its own.

The cold and emptyness that once stood is once more enviting to its company

just for the fear of being alone.

I rather be back on my own, alone with myself. I don't want you here anymore.

Please, leave me to me and go and make your pain someone elses.

Indeed my fault for you told me not to fall in love. I do regret where it brought me.

Nothing more I can do now but to live once more with my mistakes for being a never learner.

I hate you for making me love you.

Maxwell R. Black

14 April 2009

02.43am