terça-feira, 4 de agosto de 2009

I hate

I hate the way you talk to me, and the way you cut your hair;
I hate the way you drive my car, I hate it when you stare.
I hate your big dumb combat boots, and the way you read my mind.
I hate you so much it makes me sick; it even makes me rhyme.
I hate the way you're always right, I hate it when you lie.
I hate it when you make me laugh; even worse when you make me cry.
I hate it that you're not around, and the fact that you didn't call.
But mostly I hate the way I don't hate you;
not even close,
not even a little bit,
not even at all...

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