Hate that Creates the Hurt

You look weathered.
Your face sunken and sagging.
Your heart shriveled.
You reach towards me, barely held back by the invisible rope made of what is left of your values and morals. 
I hold you in my hands cupped together, barely holding all the loose pieces. 
Some mean slowly being poured into my heart against my will, the rest waiting to be released. 
You are the hate that creates the hurt.  

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