Is this life?

I've yet to understand my meaning in this place. Am I no better than a drug addict, mindless to my own existence? And yet I still cease to live. I wish I could decorate my soul with happiness, but I would only be lying to myself, because I cannot live in bliss when I don't understand what I am living for.

HATE

My words could best be described with a picture.
Trees of golden leaves growing in a black sky.
The pollution withering their life.
That would only describe half of the hate I feel.
A crowded city of smiling faces.
Sadness buried beneath the paint.
Helplessness and insecurity blinding their souls.
Fairies crying at their hate and repulsive actions.
If only thoughts would become words.
I would scream in hate and blow away their perfection
as they stand their naked
every scar of regret screaming for attention.
Mindless bodies of greed and power.
Helpless like a starving child crying for hope.
The poet feeds off their agony
and smiles as they starve for a soul.
Laughter pulls at my mind.
So this is the life they chose.

THE HUNGER.

His words cut through me with pain.
Maybe because they are filled with so much hate.
They make me cringe
as if I want to bury my soul
before it rips out before my eyes.
I don't understand him.
I don't want to understand him.
I want to be rid of him.
So the love can flow back into me
and the hate can burn with his existence.
I can feel the love in my bones.
I can feel it when I sleep.
Oh beautiful Love, please come back to me.
I hunger for it.
I scream it's name.
Oh beautiful Love, please come back to me.
I want it. I need it. My soul is hungry.
My heart is burning with hate.
Why does he make me this way?
If only I was strong.
The hate would vanish
and Love would never leave again,
but I am weak.
I let his words tear through me
and lay alone waiting for
LOVE.