PrEtTy LiTtLe PrInCeSs I hate the way you fake a smile, when everything isn't fine.
I hate the way you won't look deception in the eye.
I hate the way I've lost your trust, yet have done nothing wrong.
I hate the way your boyfriend lies, but you still go along.
I hate the way you look at me, and say, "Let's fix this please."
I hate the way you have shit-for-friends, when you once had me.
I hate the way I'm losing you, and the way you run your life.
I hate the way you make me want to stab Justin with a knife.
I hate the way you pretend to care, when your actions show you don't,
And most of all I hate how much I care....but not anymore, because now I won't!
Special K i hate the way you talk to me and the way you cut your hair...i hate the way you drive my car, i hate the way you stare...i hate your big dumb combat boots and the way you read my mind...i hate you so much it makes me sick, it even makes me ryme...i hate the way your always right, i hate the way you lie...i hate the way you make me laugh, and even more when you make me cry...i hate it when youre not around, and the fact that you didn't call...but mostly i hate that i don't hate you...not even close, not even a little bit, not even at all.

sorry.... i'm surprised no one beat me to putting that on this part of the site :)
once again Sonnet 141

In faith, I do not love thee with mine eyes,
For they in thee a thousand errors note;
But 'tis my heart that loves what they despise,
Who in despite of view is pleased to dote;
Nor are mine ears with thy tongue's tune delighted,
Nor tender feeling, to base touches prone,
Nor taste, nor smell, desire to be invited
To any sensual feast with thee alone:
But my five wits nor my five senses can
Dissuade one foolish heart from serving thee,
Who leaves unsway'd the likeness of a man,
Thy proud hearts slave and vassal wretch to be:
Only my plague thus far I count my gain,
That she that makes me sin awards me pain.

Everything strives.

In truth, I do not love you with my eyes,
My eyes in you a thousand errors see;
But my fool heart loves what it does despise,
Who in despite of you does yearn to please;
Niether do I love the sounds that you make,
And it is not your kiss or tender touch,
Not your taste, or smell or the way I ache,
It is none of these things that mean so much;
But for all these things and all I know,
My foolish heart will not stop loving you;
It would be my death if you were to go,
And so for you anything I would do:
Only in one way do I count this gain,
You for whom I sin awards me my pain.
what's it to you?
who go