I hate it when you cut yourself,

but it's not my place to say.

Everytime you release the pain,

the cuts are there to stay.

Looking at the way we live our lives,

this is the price we pay.

I can't remember life before,

we were forced to live this way.

I hate the tears that fill your eyes,

and the reasons they appear.

The way you run from open arms,

and how you conquer fear.

Why is it pain that you rely on,

to make the future clear?

If it wasn't for the loving few,

I'm afraid you'd disappear.

I hate the way you live your life,

and how your sky is forever overcast.

I hear the way you always say,

this time you slice will be your last.

I know it's not what you meant to say,

but the words slipped out so fast.

It seems you're cutting away your future,

just to eliminate your past.

I hate what you've become,

and everyone you see.

I hate the way your voice sounds,

when you say there's nothing else to be.

I hate it when you lie,

and swear you know no misery.

I hate the way I love to hate,

it helps me live less painfully.

So at the end, of every day,

before I cut, and waste away,

I'll stare into, this glass and say,

I hate the way you're me.