Plague Prosaic

4

Two, three, a hundred times.

I told myself not to hate, not to swallow its wave, not to welcome its sting.

Maybe that's one of the many flaws painted on myself, I'm full of hatred.

Small things, little words, too much insensitivity of the human themselves, it angers me.

I don't forget, I don't even know if I knew how to forgive.

Everyday, these pills of hate, unconsciously-or maybe consciously at times, I take. I cannot get myself to spit it out of my system.

It's a drug consist of what I have, haven't and should've done, a drug that's spreading poison inside of me yet I still can't stop devouring.

What have you done? No, what have I done?

I don't want to be like this, it changes me every time.

It ruins me.

But how...

So how...