I wish I could hate you like I used to,
the ferocious hate that came after the betrayal.
I remember when I still loved you,
my endless devotion that ended up being fatal.

After it happened, you made my blood boil.
I could barely look at your face without wanting to shout.
It made me sick, my stomach would turn and roil,
how you still were able to fill me with self-doubt.

But now, I don't ever see you.
I don't ever think about you.
And on the rare occasion I do,
I feel nothing for you.

And that, for some reason makes me feel sad.
All my passion for you, just gone.
It's too hollow, and even if this sounds bad,
I wish I still hated you, at least that's a feeling I could count on.