Character

I find my friends are little more than known enemies
A classic tale of push and pull
I find no love in the furthest reach of memory
A price one must pay for being a tad too artful
As I am a craftsman of sorts
These words are my tool of choice
Yet it seems these very words,
Drown my very voice
For this train of thought has derailed
All I aspire for is to start anew
Yet I feel exceedingly failed
In my search for youthful enthusiasm
I have entered this passage of numbness
Something the mind cannot fathom
Through such eyes of bleakness
Which lead me to conclude;
Be free with no allude
As I would love nothing more,
Than for you to hate me-
Hate me for all that I am
Rather than love me all that I am not