The generic shred of beauty you adore is the exact kind I hate.
I look down on it with disdain,
the purest form of animosity.
You expect the needle and the mask to rewind the disgust created.
You put the utmost faith in hopes that you won’t feel a thing.
The anesthetic blend you breathe in won’t fail for a second.
I smile at your second-guessing,
laugh at how stupid you sound.
You expect the doctor’s words and the dizziness to be faltered.
You put the utmost faith in the One you think will relieve your pain.
The only problem is that your God is not the reliever of pain, but the bringer.
I hear the delicate whispers about the hallway, hoping you won’t come to.
You expect for all this to go by easily and smoothly, no remembrance.
You put your utmost faith in the hopes of no hallucinations, no side-effects.
The sedative they shoot through your veins is the best reassurance.
I laugh lightly at your assumptions; I hope you have the worst trip of your life.
You expect for the sutures marked across your skin to fade without complication.
You put your utmost faith in something that you know nothing about.
The research you so cleverly devised beforehand is pointless,
you know nothing. I don’t know what’s worse, your priorities or the way you scream.
You expect for me to believe the reasons why, your foolish excuses.
You put your utmost faith in whatever you choose to fall in love with.
The different kind of beauty you hungered for wasn’t worth the price you paid.
I hate the way you scream, despite how I love to hear it.
© Copyright July 2009