I have been told that hate is just twisted love.
Never more have I disagreed so vehemently with a statement.
I will not speak for any other being; I will leave tongues in their mouths.
My hate runs not burning hot, but rather it stings with the pain of the deepest frostbite.
Rarely will I strike out, trying to debase and warp your person.
More often, I will negate you from any and all thoughts that wade through my mind.
Perfectly and without exception, I will erase you from every part of me that you have touched, transforming warm memories into weak piles of ash.
All feelings, concepts, and beliefs that I held so close to my heart will be cauterized without remorse, so that I may stop your image from bleeding further into my soul.
When I hate, there is no trace of love.
There is only the needle-prick need to sterilize all fractures in my being, erradicate all fragments of you.
When I hate, I benumb and forget all love.
YOU ARE READING
Skeletal Pages
PoetryPieces of writing that are free-written, and are just fragments of thoughts. Focusing on my sense of image and how others perceive me, as well as many other topics I feel the need to write about, these poems and stories may be rather confusing. I ho...
