hate

I think we only ever truly hate the people that we once loved.

All other hate is formless; it does not carry weight.
It is annoyance or frustration amplified to great heights.
”I hate my job.”
”I hate my neighbor.”

Pure hate is love gone cold,
And buried in an unmarked grave.

It is the bitter taste of love misplaced in a heart that doesn’t know your name.
Hands that once hung the moon for you,
Claws.
Eyes that once shone like stars,
Dark. And blind.
A void to fall into despite better things to do.
Bile and wreck and wrath and spit
Hate destroys as love creates
But do not fault yourself for hate
If you still dream, you can replace it.
Hate cannot live for long;
it eats its fill
and then its gone.