Pile Of Shit, That Is

I hate this city, it crumbles under my gaze and leaves noise in my head.

I hate the countryside, it pulls me in and under and drowns me with quiet intent.

I hate dreaming of running away or looking for something I cannot find.

I hate being awake, all I do is running away or looking for something I just can’t find.

I hate this house, this house is not mine.

 

I hate the buses that take me to work every morning, I hate the noise,

I hate the air, it’s full of petrol and oil and cars that pass me on the street,

I hate computers, I hate the internet, it’s a beautiful platform for the masses.

I hate losing myself in it while buying music online and downloading my next boyfriend.

With one click you’re in heaven, with another you’re in hell.

 

I hate the noise in my ears, I hate the noise, the trash in my head,

I hate everything I can think of, it’s second-hand, everything I choose,

I hate everything I look at, it will never be my best friends’ first choice.

I hate everything I’m interested in today, is not what it’s going to be tomorrow,

I hate everything I read, people sound so fucking smart, I don’t understand.

 

I hate scum, it survives the clean times, brooding in dark corners,

I hate to wait and see, to wait for the perfect moment to lash out.

I hate the fact that I still believe I need to steal in order to survive,

I hate to believe that one day I could survive without stealing, no second-hand,

I hate the fact that I chose to believe but somewhere along the way I forgot why.

I hate that one moment when later I have to destroy the memory of it,

I hate the rage and thirst for revenge, the anger I’m feeling inside.

I just keep dreaming about distant memories of happier times.

I hate the fact that everyone’s a hazard, and I am a hazard to everyone.

I hate the fact that I never speak the truth, that I never speak up or speak out.

I hate the fact that I make so many mistakes in my life, that I get thrown down.

I hate the fact that as soon as you point out my mistakes, I hate you even more.

 

I hate the fact that to retaliate is to admit you’re wrong.

I hate the fact that I retaliate every time with sarcastic subtexts.

I hate irony, but I need it to survive, like a mirror you don’t want to look into,

A mirror that will show me what I don’t want to see. Even if I do,

 

I just don’t see it.

I just don’t see it.