I want to cry for you and how much pain you must hold. 
You must. You must. 
I simply know, you must. 

To hate those you’ve never met and deem them unworthy of life itself. 
To see them as worthless, parasitic, nothings. 
To speak so ill, as you condemn them for color they couldn’t have conceived. 

You must. You must. 
Be pitifully empty, so desperate to be filled that you engorge yourself on hatred. 
Consuming carnage, so much that it bursts from your mouth. 

Filled with bitterness and sorrow, focused solely on the downfall of others.
Peering down, and up, all at once, at those who differ. 
Those who are not. 
Those who would not. 
Those who can not. 
Only not, nothing more. 
You must. You must. 

I would cry for your ashen heart, these tattered traits of disconnect.  
Your ought nots, and shamefuls. 
I would waste wanton words, just as you, were it not for my world of everything and everyone. 
My worlds of color, and sound, and life unimagined. 
My worlds where each lights on the next, intertwined, none overtaking any other. 
Each existing fully, and wholly, and delightfully free. 
Each inviting and welcoming and loving of me. 

I would wail for your greys, and your nos, and your uninformed judgment. 
I would weep for your wishes, and would haves, and used to bes,
I would weep beside you, as you railed against existence. 
I would let you bury your wounds within the shell of lividity. 

I would sit beside you, 
and allow you to turn your woe against any and all, 
make them small make them foe, 
make them fear, 
make them know. 

But, if you must, so I do as well. 
Wonder how sad and empty and filled up with ash, 
That you must remain to hate so indiscriminately 
And not see how it takes of you.
Not question what it steals,
Not wonder.

But,
It takes you.
It becomes
You.

So I sit and cry, for all you’ve lost and will have to fight to refind. 
Knowing you have put all your fight into others,
And left none of it for you.