Everyone else lays unconsciously in there bed
Peaceful or fearful all the same
While you sit in the floor staring at the walls and the ceiling
Wondering about everything and everyone and every every
3 o'clock in the morning is for those of us who need more time
Time to think
Time to take a break from reality
We live more life this way, intending to or not
And maybe that is why we die young
Maybe that is why we seem so much wiser than our age
But somehow it makes us the most alone people in the human race
Nobody to speak with but yourself
Nobody to console in but yourself
So we sit
And we sit
And we sit
Thinking
Pondering
And dreaming a life away while you exist in your own at sunrise

I lie through my teeth every time I go to her office
Every time I sit in the middle of that gray couch with pillows on top and blankets all around
I isolate, still, even in this place, from all warmth and company

At first I could not fool her from what I was feeling what I was planning
But now she believes me
All the lies that slip through my lips and into the small cozy room
I would be lying if I said I didn't look forward to our meetings
Of course how are you to trust me now that you know my secret

My therapist is the only person who I feel comfortable around, without guards
And even then I do not ask for help
Even then I do not tell the truth

You see all I am focused on now is destroying that thing in my life that is destroying me

Smash its head in and break its hands
Beat its brain until it can't stand

To burn, to make it break and bleed
To deprive it of food, water, and sleep

Destroy what destroys you

Too bad that thing is me

Do I believe there is love?
Of course
Yet it is hard to say that I have experienced such a thing
And in that it is just as hard to try and justify to anyone that there is, in fact, love

I do not know what is sadder: That I have not experienced love or the way I am responsive to it

I know who I am supposed to love
But it is no love that I can tell

But this is the truth:
I know of hate
Hatred I believe in
Hatred I am all too familiar with

I suppose I could be so enveloped in my own self-hatred
Comparing all other things to me that I love almost anything and anyone

So from my conclusions I extract this:
Because I participate in the deepest and most strewn out of hate
I know that it exists
Therefore, love, comparative to my involvement in hate, can only lead me to an assumption:

If hatred exists, then so must love