And you stare at it happen, as it happens right in front of you, and say no. Just, no. It can’t work out like this. It’s not supposed to end like this. In what kind of fucked up story does the bad guy win? In what kind of story does the victim end up in disbelief that she never got the justice she deserved. That’s when you realize you’re the villain. But no, the other person’s not innocent either, they’re the villain too. They’re worse than you, but you’re still the villain, because you let it get this way. Everything’s your fault. And you hate everyone. And you hate yourself.
And you hate everything. And your so filled with hate that you just want to end it all. And then you realize that if you do that, you’ll be hated even more, and that realization makes you hate them more, and there’s just so much fucking hate and no way to end it. And that hate turns into sorrow and confusion and pointlessness, and it’s endless really. And it’s as blunt as I just put it because there’s no other way to express yourself lyrically when you’re that upset. And in all the hate you feel homicidal, suicidal, maniac, and repulsive. And there’s no way out.
And there’s no one to help you, because you’re too embarrassed to share these repulsive feelings with anyone but yourself. And you’re your only companion, but it doesn’t matter because you’re used to it being that way. And you’re shaking, shivering, bawling in your loneliness, not feeling sorry for yourself like your accused of but hating yourself. No. It can’t be like this, the villain doesn’t feel this way. But the victim doesn’t hate this way. And you find the devil’s in your thoughts, and you’re nothing but a victim of yourself. And the cycle of hatred… it starts again.