Come barren fields or grassy plains.

I’ll still hate you and your bloody stains.

No matter where I place the blame.

I still despise you all the same.

Abysmal painting on the wall.

In due time I’ll see you fall.

And even if you linger still.

From our wall, you will distill.

The way you hang above my head.

I wish a poster hung there instead.

Hate can be anything if you believe.

This horrid knowledge is our reason to grieve.

From our home, you will retreat.

Into the depths into the street.

If we cast you into the fire.

Our situation becomes more dire.

With every thought with every glance.

We allow you yet another chance. 

Embed yourself into our lives.

And you will find our pain and strife.

Inside your throat inside your lung.

Your story passed on by word of tongue.

The light takes you for you die here.

Into the abyss as death draws near.

Abysmal painting on the wall.

In due time I’ll see you fall.

As I sit here within your frame.

I have only myself left to blame.