It might be said:
Have you ever caressed the pure sensation
Of utter hate?
The broiling, boiling, baffling faze
Of anger, threaded within the gnashing, fierce teeth…
Face, red as roses in the midst of incoming spring
Season. Yes, I have felt the sensation of hate.
I have not hated enough to delve in it,
Despite my strong incentive to be frowned upon
Along the gnashing teeth for knives,
And inflamed cheeks for rose thorns,
For indeed, I am hated,
And I will never, contest these… genuine facts.
You see, I would much rather view such
Innocuous faces before my eyes and sentimental wellbeing,
Contrary to false love,
The curls accumulated by lips as raspy smiles are formed,
Whilst cheeks glow lilac as condescending complements reform-
Yes, I’d much rather be truly hated than falsely loved.
For true hate divulges truth,
And false love instigates falsehood;
Thus my general wellbeing removes all images of
Artificial gush, for all one could
Unapologetically attempt in consolidation of personal self,
Is ultimately demolished by myth, and nothing else.
Hate is a short word of deep expression.