Hate is Too Much Work

What is it that you want?
What is it that I can give you?
Your hand, your stare brings so much pain
You say you're blind
You say the darkness pushes in all around you
But the only darkness you see
Is the back of your eyelids
You feel the pain from your own blade
But blame it on everyone else
We all kill ourselves eventually
It's not your place to sell tickets
Sweet dreams
As they say in Hell
"A martyr is when you die for something
That is not of yourself"