Hate

By: Charlotte Shum

Hate is the one with eyes of valour. Of greed and lust for blood. Yearning of adrenaline reached only by bloodshed, satisfied, just momentarily, by the cries of the anguished. He who is hateful, who was once wise--once young, eyes beaming with utter curiosity and delight--now not, dies another day in a forgotten place, alone, all to remember his name with shame and hatred, forever defined by the one who defined him.

Hate is the one who takes and takes. Ever consuming, ever expanding. No end to a high ruining all inhibitions. Shameful it is, addictive too. For hate is merciless. Not even one, it spares.