I hate myself. A friend is
one you trust, who allows you
to see who you really are.
People think I am a friend,
trust me with all their hearts; they
think I reveal the truth, but
I lie, I lie all the time.
An angel runs over to me
to escape the taunts of witches.
Get away, I only tell lies;
but still she looks into my eyes.
I want to reveal the beauty
inside, but she can't see past her
freckles, the redness of her eyes.
And I curse myself as she cries.