What Keeps You Here?

Hate.

Hate for those who did this to me.

Hate for those who allowed this to happen.

Hate for those who will allow this to happen to others.

Hatred that there’s so few of us willing to draw a line and say, “No further.”

Hatred at the fact the bastards might win in the end.

Hating myself for turning love into hate.

When the last of them burn and dawn breaks, then maybe, maybe, I can love myself for one final, brief moment.