I hate you.

they all want me to lie

and say it isn’t important;

that everything is boring

and insignificant.

that the moments

that create a halo around

the deepest parts of my brain

are fleeting & fewer each day.

I hate myself every time

I lift a drink to my lips,

realizing the cold burn has

touched them one hundred percent

more than yours to mine.

I keep running in circles

trying to keep you off my mind.

I know the interworkings

of my soul fight between escaping

down the shortest route,

kissing you in the silence,

and throwing punches in the morning.

They listen when I ramble about you,

but they hate you nonetheless.

I wish I could hate you as well.