To hate
To hate  poem stories
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blastimus
blastimus but they since rose, and won the day.
Autoplay OFF   •   a month ago

gore for the soul

To hate

You hate the thorns that draw the blood that keeps you alive, that meets with yours in a whirlpool of chaos and drive, they boil together and evaporate at once,

to form the clouds above your head that rain with crimson ice.

The hate is thicker than the mist that clouds your lustful eyes, that drives you wild and keeps you mild while your soul cries.

Hate is human, hate is us, hate is never truly gone, it's just waiting for the "happy" to pass.

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