Nothing

I wanted to be perfectly clean. 
My hatred consumes me.
It draws fragments of broken mirrors,
so that I can see myself in each of them,
endlessly multiplied and irrevocably distorted.
Man kills absolutely everything.
I rubbed my skin until it bled to cleanse myself. 
It came from outside.
It was born inside me.
From deceived expectations, from silence where I waited for an answer.
She devours me from within. 
I hate lies.
I hate the pretense that is called politeness.
I hate myself for being forced to endure it.
I don't want to be human.
And now I understand.
Perfect purity is emptiness.
And I am too full of hatred
to become nothing.