Hate is a coiling gust of air seeking it's way out Apathy sags, murky and cold in complacent instinct. While hate can be tofu to a child expecting sweets, apathy is nothing but the silent flickering of a neon vacancy sign.
Hate is bottled yet bursting. Apathy is free, but sedentary.
Hate is muscular it shouts and threatens while the other beckons, just to push you away.
One: lava fit into a mold. Two: so hot it becomes cold.
Hate is the fire and apathy the barren field of ash from which no phoenix shall rise.