Sufficiently Inadequate

Sometimes I wonder what is really wrong. I don't question Darkness, or the sickness of my mind. I only taunt this fucking heart. It's my real disease. My real sickness. I want to rip it off. It's decaying within me, the core of depression.
I understand hate, but mostly I understand love. How fake it is, how deadly, and no matter what I do.. sometimes, secretly, I would smile remembering its true decadence.
Hate cannot obliterate. Hate is not two-faced. Hate is pure…unlike its counterpart…love, the suffocating, the ever demanding, the sweetly disguised poison of fatality.
Hate strikes you once, and only once. Love…it takes its time, devouring every fiber of being that you are, till you're left unrecognizable to yourself... and that's probably the most horrific of all things, not knowing the intense eyes staring back at you in the mirror…that somehow it has grown a mind of its own, and might turn against itself…you.
I'm getting closer…only a few steps away, and you will be banished and forever gone, then my Darkness will completely consume. And I will not care for you, but once and a while I will look back remembering you…lovingly.