I hate myself.
I hate what I've become.
I hate what the others think I've become.
I hate my incapacity do like myself.
I hate the fact that even when I sleep the pain strikes in the shape of words that hurt every tiny little bit of my soul.
I hate my propensity to be melodramatic.
I hate the fact that I'm writing about my fucking miserable life (though it is not as miserable as I paint it to be) in a fucking miserable way and I'm writing it in English, for God's sake.
WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH ME?!
Am I having some kind of depression or is this just the urge for attention?
Poetically writing about how I hate myself, hating everything else.