I hate.
That is default.
Jealousy and rage.
Stricken with detest at the better dressed, the better off, the happier lives, the truthful smiles.
I am the devil on the shoulder chocking angelic praise
The lackluster gestures of congratulatory chat and clichéd phrase
I hate the world
And the way it shuffles my cards against me
And yet longing for a win
I accept only failure.
I hate the rain as it freely washes away and I dream of self-saturation
Taken to the ground awaiting my own six feet of soil
I hate the calcium in my bones that hold me together when all I want is to fall apart
I hate every living thing
But not as much as I hate myself
See more of Phillip Knight's poetry and upcoming releases at Fishbowl Publishing