Is it love? Or is it hate. To transform this, or admit defeat. Is it love it is it hate?

When we celebrate the foes that fall. When we see it’s worth it all, just to see them fall. Is it love, or is it hate?

Is it love or is it hate. When we celebrate, instead of create. When we glorify those who humiliate. Is it love, or is it hate?

Don’t celebrate that demons fall, keep your eyes full on the goal. Freedom to, not only live. But also, to not die. Die down cheap paid paths.

The enemy is easy to see, in The other’s eye. But so hard to spot in our own little lies. It’s the invisible that we best ought fear.

It’s the snear on my face, and the virus in my lung. And heart. They’re the foul fucking foes that ought best depart.