I hate

I hate the fatal outcome,
I’m never tired of a life,
I hate all seasons, when I become
Unable write a word in them, and poems born on strife.
I hate cold cynicism, sarcasm,
Enthusiasm I cannot trust, and also
When stranger trying read my letters,
Moreover, stands behind my back.
I hate it, when in the middle
Discussion being interrupted,
I hate backstabbers, 
Also - shots in forehead.
I hate the gossips in the form of versions,
Worms of doubt, honour’s needle,
Or, - all the time in wrong direction,
Or, - sound of an iron on the glass.
I hate full confidence,
It’s better when the brakes have faded.
I hate that word as “honour” is forgotten,
What’s more, - in honour deceiving friends behind their backs.
I see the broken wings…
And have no pity. You’re asking why?
I cannot bear violence and helplessness,
I hate myself, when I’m afraid,
I cannot stand when innocent are beaten,
I hate when people try to get into my soul,
Especially, - who tries to search in it.
I know that there, ahead, big changes,
But these are what I’ll always hate!

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