You've changed. I see it in your eyes, it's the way you look at me. I hear it in your voice, it's the way you talk to me. I notice it in your walk: your step is heavier and your head is down. You only watch your feet these days. When you do raise your face, your glare is defiant and you proclaim your fiery hate for the world and everyone in it. But you just use your hate to stand tall and strong, yet your hate weighs so heavily on your shoulders: can't you see that it's aiding to your collapse? When you are on the floor, broken and crying and empty and wanting to die--do you still marvel at your precious hate, does it still motivate you? Maybe if you decided to breathe love you'd feel better about yourself.