You are agony itself.
You are a plague upon the Earth.
You are Pandora's opened box.
You are food rotting on the shelf.
You are the pain of giving birth.
You are an *** and an ox.

My hate for you extends as far as the North wind can take it.
Out of home,
in rain or shine.
Tumbling down hills,
and thrashing upstream.
Through traffic jams,
and past city limits.
Beside shorelines,
and under cargo ships.

You are the rocks that my happiness is repeatedly,
repeatedly,
repeatedly dashed against.