Dear Hate,                                                                         I hate you. Always have, always will.I hate how you ensnare, trap, and tangleand like a fly I danglein your web of red hot anger.I hate how you make me crumple like a dolland turn me red and make me crawl.I hate red but really, I hate you.I hate how you divide and conquer the minduntil their body shrivels and dies.How you destroy and take all the kindyou taint the water and darken the skies.It's that,  I hate you. I fear your fear and hate your "love"I hate the fear you bring my mother.And my father. And sister.And me. Mostly me.I hate your twisted idea of passion and howyou steal the flowers and clouds and grassand leave the cacti and storms and soot,because,  I hate you. I hate the resentment, frustration and fury. The death of the innocent and rise of the evil. The cloven hooves and curly horns that form, as words that aren't words, but yells and screams and shrieks of something  too sinister, I think. Honestly,  I hate you. And I want to kill you. And I hate that I can't kill you. But I hate that I want to kill you. You bring forth vile, bile lodged in my throat, you bring out something unknown... now known in me, and I fear you. And I feared that. But,  I hate you. But I want to love you. I don't hate that, because, I want to stop you. To suffocate and strangle and squash you. I hate that I hate. But I'll despise you. And detest, loathe, even abhor. And that's all the synonyms that I could find in the dictionary that aren't hate. Love,                                                                           A Lover