Number Five Thousand Twenty Six and One Half

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By Cutie In A Death Cab •

I hate you. You have your hands around my throat and you're smiling all the while. You're so vile but I want you. I get sick when I look at you but I never look at you not at you not at you just a photograph It hurts me so much it makes me laugh. I hate you. Oh how I need to hate you.

Current vote: 5.0 / 5

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December 31, 2006 20:15sk8t3R gal 4 eva

this is not a good poem, and the title makes no sence acording to the poem!!