Something burns inside my chest,
Eating away at my self control.
Fists clench, full of purpose
In an attempt to stop the pain.
What did I do to cause you to hate?
I can’t stand the way you make me feel.

I can’t control my emotions or what my heart can feel.
My treacherous heart beats faster as my lungs expand within my chest,
All signs of my continuous burning hate.
Sometimes I just wish for self control
So that I can halt the rush through my veins, dull the pain.
Why am I here with you? I don’t even know my own purpose.

The future is clouded, unknown is my purpose.
My heart slowly hardens, becoming calloused and unable to feel.
This is my way, my solution to the burning pain.
I place a hand to my chest,
Trying to figure out how long I can remain under control.
I breathe in and out, lungs expanding and contracting as I combat the hate.

I try my best to repress it until there is no sign of it, no more hate.
I realize now that this is my purpose.
To turn hate into love is the best form of control.
Warm love breaks through the barrier around my heart, allowing me again to feel.
My hand returns slowly to my chest
As I realize that the hate also carried away the pain.

I enjoy this new sensation, the absence of pain.
I look in your eyes, wondering if your eyes have also banished the hate.
My heart flutters hopefully in my chest,
Waiting to get a sense of your purpose.
Your eyes clear and I realize that you must feel what I feel,
Holding back my flow of words, I wait for you to speak, keeping control.

My fingers fumble with the cuffs of my coat, as I nervously wait with fraying control.
As he stares off into the distance, my heart aches with renewed pain.
Gently he caresses my face with his hand, my nerves tingle. Every touch I feel.
He can subdue me with a touch, something I hate.
I am glad that we have found this new togetherness, our purpose.
My breath quickens and my heart beats erratically against my chest.

The pain has left my chest.
I feel now that it is I who controls my purpose,
Ridding the world of destructive hate.