I hate you

I hate the facade you wear
with such pride.

I hate the fists you paint
on my ocean eyes.

The purple stains underneath
the faded scars
and mostly how my hands look
grasped in tentacles;
my brain imprinted with stars.

Above all I hate these melancholy thorns.
I am done with the way they prick my skin.
If I'd known roses require blood to satisfy
I would've never offered my hand.

Fuck you.