Hate

I could write in prose
But there's nothing as close
as hiding behind this charade we call
poetry.

It was a bad day,
then another bad day,
then a few more just for a cruel
kick.

Don't you know it feels to be hated?
Makes me wish I never was created
Staring at you receiving excess
love.

And if one day I were to

Hijack a bus and crash it
Into a ravine killing a hundred.

Or bash someone in the nose so badly
He'd be too disfigured to face the world.

Or jump off a overhead bridge into
Speeding traffic and creating a deadly pile-up.

Or simply lash out unreasonably at you.

Then maybe you'd get it in your blocky head
That I can hate the world as much as the world hates me.