Hatred so cold, Yet so comforting.
Rage so Hot, Yet so blinding.
Both all consuming and volatile,
Leaving nothing behind in there wake.
Lust so intense, yet so fleeting.
Power so enticing, Yet so Pointless.
What is the point of life when there is nothing but these.
For when they are done you are left with nothing.
Cold, Numbing, Everlasting nothing.
Everything gone never to return.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem