He loves the ones they hate
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And hugs the cold in the heart,
To receive his warmth from a solitude.
Given that they confuse him,
He’s not dumb—he learns;
Those that can’t be trusted,
Those that aren’t able for him to depend on.
And I wish I could hate you forever,
But I can’t just because it’s hard for me to do that.
Don’t care now; you know it’s too late.
They’ve gone too long,
Hoping they don’t regret when he doesn’t heed them.
And now I don’t wish I hate you—I don’t have to.
No need for him to wish when he already does.
It burns within like a cold blade he wishes they had in their heart now.
And now he loves the ones they hate,
The ones that don’t talk—the ones that are left alone.
If you drown, I laugh.
If they choke, I smirk.
And if anyone of “them” I strangle,
Hope they’re suffocation lasts forever.
Don’t try to talk to him now, he’s through.
And if they as him—ask me—what he needs,
I just want to hear that they aren’t afraid to bleed.
He looks on them with disgust,
Wanting forever to expunge their memory.
He wishes he could hate them so much—and just can’t.
Neal E. Wakeman