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How Don't I Love You
let me shed the hate
that ill applies to anger although consummate
unluckily discerned by trinity and bred
by esoteric tragedies and irregular neglect
I hate the allegation falsely wetly kept
in synchronized conspiracy and intersecting needs
I hate the condescension even subtly felt
I hate consuming hatred as it sticks like itch
I hate the hating as compelled and overwhelmed by it
I cannot come to terms with expiatory peace
I hate you with a hate that I alone deserve
for espousing insufficiency I succeed to keep
deep in introspection when I in quiet speak
to God who knows I'm never better
after a digested death.
poem
by
Abraham de la Torre
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