I Don't Hate You

You are the trigger that reignites
an enmity of adoration and abhorrence
in the very fibres of my being.

I don't hate you, on the contrary;
it is easier to be angry
than to admit I am broken.

The state I am in is one of careless mend,
a whole made out of pieces,
a volatile kind of stable,
a looming sort of combustion
that threatens to explode at our every almost-touch.

I don't hate you, S.