One that's not much longer called "My Hate."
My hate is like ripe fruit from an orchard, which is mine.
I sink my teeth into it.
I nurse on its odd shapes.
I've grafted every new variety, walked in my bare feet,
rotting, and detached on the fallen ones.
Vicious circle, unfriendly act.
I'm eating the whole world in the caves of my ill will,
I must be stopped.