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Description
Your responsible for everything I hate. The times when I, barely of age to drive, secluded my soul into my dark container, a container I grew to love, and depicted my life in solitude, excluding a single light of white clouds from a warmth in the corner of my room. This warmth was much less warmth compared to its ambiguous role of destructing the beautiful or the unsightly.
I, as you are responsible for, would lie on the cold bare ground and stare at the barren ceiling in hopes of finding a disguised answer of my life in the form of a night crawler or a reflection of light; something to grasp as insightful or of signified meaning.
Alone, except for my cheap though priceless crafted maple, provided myself with something to separate my fears and desires from inner thoughts. This was the only true possession, you were responsible for, that I took into my heart. I without food or water would lie upon the cold barren ground and play my crafted wood, reflecting on the sky I could not see late into nights and early into mornings.
I, as you were responsible for, played original melodies containing harmonies of the love I had never experienced, the hate I had never understood, the desires I had never attempted to fulfill and the reflections of a dark room with a single luminescence that pierced my heart like a syringe obstructing the skin of a chosen death.
During the day of the summers, when you would come and try to reenter my broken breaths, I would deny you love and scream unfulfilling lies to remove myself from your presence.
"You have destroyed the life I never have had. The life I have reflected I was obviously never destined to have."
It you would just stare into my eyes in self-promoted anguish, and ponder on what had brought upon such a self-absorbed anxiety. You must have seen my life as a murky water destined to become darker and eventually drained as time progressed.
This was, though hampering to my heart, something I looked forward to, for there would certainly be something to reflect upon during that night that would unquestionably come.
I, as you were responsible for, wrote many a number of songs that would never be heard except in my own solitude. As the summers waned, and my life was progressing into an undeniable adulthood, I began, after much reflection, to exit myself from my room; the room you were responsible for and I began to intermingle myself with other individuals in the foreboding outside world.
I grew through college, watching peers take light to drugs, and even though college was supposed to submit maturity to one's being, I saw many digress in their intelligence. And as you were responsible for, I developed hatred towards outsiders. I hated college, the individuals unfortunately met through it, the times when my roommates would come home, disrupting my studies, late into the nights with a wobble upon their minds and a developing glaze upon their eyes that looked as if they were staring upon the devil himself.
On one occasion, after a night of consuming hazardous supplies of the deadly liquid, an individual in my housing came home in a violent spree after his closest companion, a woman of great beauty, had betrayed him in love. Controlling his very actions, the hazardous liquid took it upon him to beat that woman to the point of unrecognizable horror. She was identified not through her outward appearance as in most cases, but rather the blackish pearls that consumed her neck.
This devastated me and it recognizably devoured any potential his life had contained. I could not live in a place as this.
I hated the world and could only possess desires to return to my room of solitude and reflection, and once again lay my hands upon the flawless craftsmanship of a hundred dollar maple, that you were responsible for. I would smell it's addicting scent of maple and rosaries, of pines and summer nights in the meadows, and I would play night till night, songs that had once been my life.
I called you, for you were responsible, for the first time since my exit of your home. I called you and told of the horrific affairs that life had brought upon me without the ability to love you and repay you for your outstanding attempt at kindness. Not the maple, which you were responsible for, but after reflection in the light, I realized that I wanted everything you had attempted at providing me with. You did not answer.
I told you of the good affairs you had provided me with to occupy my reflection times; of the love you had sent me and I had selfishly left not regarded. You did not answer.
You had most surely always loved me. I, as you most definitely weren't responsible for, had treated you with an utter strive at nothing. I hadn't wished you happy holidays or good tidings, my love and understanding or even my thankfulness for all the attempts at liberty you had laid upon my deciding.
I, as you were most definitely not responsible for, had done nothing to tell of my love towards you as a soul-bearing individual. I had done nothing to tell myself of this love. And now, after you had laid upon me all this happiness, now you were gone off into another life of complete satisfaction. I had finally realized that I was responsible for everything I hate. And now it was far, far to late.

Description
Your responsible for everything I hate. The times when I, barely of age to drive, secluded my soul into my dark container, a container I grew to love, and depicted my life in solitude, excluding a single light of white clouds from a warmth in the corner of my room. This warmth was much less warmth compared to its ambiguous role of destructing the beautiful or the unsightly.
I, as you are responsible for, would lie on the cold bare ground and stare at the barren ceiling in hopes of finding a disguised answer of my life in the form of a night crawler or a reflection of light; something to grasp as insightful or of signified meaning.
Alone, except for my cheap though priceless crafted maple, provided myself with something to separate my fears and desires from inner thoughts. This was the only true possession, you were responsible for, that I took into my heart. I without food or water would lie upon the cold barren ground and play my crafted wood, reflecting on the sky I could not see late into nights and early into mornings.
I, as you were responsible for, played original melodies containing harmonies of the love I had never experienced, the hate I had never understood, the desires I had never attempted to fulfill and the reflections of a dark room with a single luminescence that pierced my heart like a syringe obstructing the skin of a chosen death.
During the day of the summers, when you would come and try to reenter my broken breaths, I would deny you love and scream unfulfilling lies to remove myself from your presence.
"You have destroyed the life I never have had. The life I have reflected I was obviously never destined to have."
It you would just stare into my eyes in self-promoted anguish, and ponder on what had brought upon such a self-absorbed anxiety. You must have seen my life as a murky water destined to become darker and eventually drained as time progressed.
This was, though hampering to my heart, something I looked forward to, for there would certainly be something to reflect upon during that night that would unquestionably come.
I, as you were responsible for, wrote many a number of songs that would never be heard except in my own solitude. As the summers waned, and my life was progressing into an undeniable adulthood, I began, after much reflection, to exit myself from my room; the room you were responsible for and I began to intermingle myself with other individuals in the foreboding outside world.
I grew through college, watching peers take light to drugs, and even though college was supposed to submit maturity to one's being, I saw many digress in their intelligence. And as you were responsible for, I developed hatred towards outsiders. I hated college, the individuals unfortunately met through it, the times when my roommates would come home, disrupting my studies, late into the nights with a wobble upon their minds and a developing glaze upon their eyes that looked as if they were staring upon the devil himself.
On one occasion, after a night of consuming hazardous supplies of the deadly liquid, an individual in my housing came home in a violent spree after his closest companion, a woman of great beauty, had betrayed him in love. Controlling his very actions, the hazardous liquid took it upon him to beat that woman to the point of unrecognizable horror. She was identified not through her outward appearance as in most cases, but rather the blackish pearls that consumed her neck.
This devastated me and it recognizably devoured any potential his life had contained. I could not live in a place as this.
I hated the world and could only possess desires to return to my room of solitude and reflection, and once again lay my hands upon the flawless craftsmanship of a hundred dollar maple, that you were responsible for. I would smell it's addicting scent of maple and rosaries, of pines and summer nights in the meadows, and I would play night till night, songs that had once been my life.
I called you, for you were responsible, for the first time since my exit of your home. I called you and told of the horrific affairs that life had brought upon me without the ability to love you and repay you for your outstanding attempt at kindness. Not the maple, which you were responsible for, but after reflection in the light, I realized that I wanted everything you had attempted at providing me with. You did not answer.
I told you of the good affairs you had provided me with to occupy my reflection times; of the love you had sent me and I had selfishly left not regarded. You did not answer.
You had most surely always loved me. I, as you most definitely weren't responsible for, had treated you with an utter strive at nothing. I hadn't wished you happy holidays or good tidings, my love and understanding or even my thankfulness for all the attempts at liberty you had laid upon my deciding.
I, as you were most definitely not responsible for, had done nothing to tell of my love towards you as a soul-bearing individual. I had done nothing to tell myself of this love. And now, after you had laid upon me all this happiness, now you were gone off into another life of complete satisfaction. I had finally realized that I was responsible for everything I hate. And now it was far, far to late.