Hating you has never been an option
Obligation you can say,
Out of silent hours I pass
Recursive games that I play.
My failures stink in my colourful moods,
In smoggy little chunks of pride.
I’m growing desperate everyday
In search of a corner to hide.
And yet you survive the glory
Of being loved and not being in,
I forge my lovesongs into incoherent hymns
For my lonely rituals of sin.