The Hate You Give

No one knows this, but while we wait for when the sun will no longer burn, the moon is starting a fire with birch, ash and apple wood. It will soon begin to heat like the sun. It’d melt moments into ailing fragments and purge the air of every cool. It’d call by name the names of our tempers, and give our anger its finished goods.

Hate is like hiding under a bubble bath for too long; while your body remains calm, you spirit begins to produce bubbles that look like the color of your life. Just close to out of town is a street with deposits of all we’ve preached. No law, no love, no traffic to plead with how we speed. No one knows this, but deep inside our hearts is the hate that stems from giving.

Leonell