Shifting

I hate this pen
and I hate this paper
and I hate these feelings
that come sooner than later
I hate these eyes
that stare back from
the mirror
and I hate this
devil that lives
inside
who laughs and laughs
while I cry and cry

My bad hand writing
and my aching poets
heart
and feelings that end
before they start

And I hate
that I'm not
strong enough to
break free from
this four walled fate
and I hate that
I'm always sorry too late