november 2, 2005

this is an ironic sort of hate...
...but not an uncommon one.

where i am filled with equal parts hate and love.
each a product of each other, a conjoined monstrosity.
(if one dies, will the other?)

where is the sense in this?
i hate you
(i hate myself)
for still having love for you

and it is this presence of love
that clears the way for hate.

you broke my heart.

degraded history and friendship.

without coherent explanation or forethought

am i worth so little?

this self-induced depression
(how else can one really write so plainly?)
is a fist thrust in my throat
so painfully stretching the esophagus in unnatural
(yet, imaginable) ways.

a groping of heart strings,
threads of memory and feeling,
to be woven into something articulate and explainable
and inevitably pulled apart to be forgotten

where does this leave me?

heart broken,
tugged in the opposing directions of love and hate.
a division even king solomon would not undertake

in the end, i am left to ask:
who are you to deserve my hate (and love)?

but then, who am i to give it to you?