How can I quell the rage,
Of half a life,
Stolen by a stranger?
If only I had taken another path,
Or taken the same path on another day,
The result would have been different,
And the anger,
Pervasive in my every day,
Could have tortured some other poor soul.

The truth is,
And you may tell anyone you wish,
Is that some mistakes are bigger than others.
The mechanism might be the same,
When you open the bomb-bay doors too early,
But it's worse if your payload is an A-bomb,
Rather than rations for the hungry.

She's so gone,
Long gone;
Barely a fleeting memory.
Some say to remember the good,
But it is the futility of the effort,
That enrages me still.
Apparently, the buttons are still there,
To push,
Because without so much as a spoken word,
I want to scream liar, and waste, and an actor's manipulation,
But it would surely be without reward,
Because I am not as comitted to the charade,
And the facade has been painted,
And quite frankly, I don't have the energy to try.

The good news is that I still hate you.
Love and hate are close together, you used to say,
But that is the Devil's scale,
And I haven't even seen it,
And wouldn't believe it if I did.
That was your thing,
Hoping that I still felt something,
And back then, my hate was good enough.

I want you to know,
Once and forevermore,
That hate has never been love before.
It was only a myth,
Given to you by faulty sources,
And I know love...
Now.
It cannot co-exist with hate
No matter how you write the score,
Unless perhaps,
Within the core of an imploding hydrogen bomb,
But I think I'll go to Florida instead.