Love is the emotion a majority of us wish to have, it's something that fulfils our life. Whereas hate is a strong emotion for someone you dont like, someone wwho has wronged you, someone who you can not stand to be with. So how can you camoflage to passionaite emotions into one. Love is beauty it is life where as hate is dispair so I don't think its a camouflage for love maybe foor something else, I mean what is it really?

I spent Valentine's day thinking about all the bad things

I wanted done to me;

my fingers broken,

all my skin beat blue,

your mouth on my mouth, and

my mouth a bleeding mess.

I spent Valentine's day thinking of

how I want to burn all the air from my lungs,

how I want to cut my feet open

dancing on stained glass--

How I want to cut myself open.

We spent Valentine's day together,

or, rather, alone:

You at your house and me at mine.

And we were both laughing because

the sale at the grocery store

told us we were desperately in need of

a love that we didn't have--

that we needed to buy her flowers,

so she wouldn't leave us

like she does in movies.

We spent Valentine's day picking up stones

and brushing the dirt off

and pressing them to our lips, wondering

if we'd ever learn how to skip them on water,

or if the tricks we loved as kids

even mattered now that we were old enough

to try our hands at them.

My valentine shoved a plush bear into my face

as the sun rose, and she said,

here is my love,

and here are all the things i hate about you:

your imperfect teeth,

the last five songs on your playlist,

the way you talk too much about some things,

the way you talk too little about others.

My valentine stripped herself bare

in the bathroom and said

here is my trust,

and I know that you will break it

because that's all you know how to do;

and I know that you don't care,

which is fine because I don't either.

Your Valentine is writhing on a leather couch,

burning through her clothes in winter,

begging you to crawl inside and be the white blood

you always promised to be.

Your Valentine is wreaking havoc in the kitchen,

flour everywhere, and flowers everywhere,

and she's burning her fingers

and little heart shaped cookies

in exchange for a little love.

This was supposed to be the Valentine's day where she said

"I love you" or "will you marry me?",

but she's high like the smoke from the fire you lit

to help her see in the dark,

and you're standing in the fire like you used to do

on the video games you played together.

This was supposed to be the Valentine's day where

you didn't have to think about the color red or

the way your hair falls over your tired shoulders.

But you see red when you think about her--

But your hair is down today

and it's so long that it got caught in

the car door when you closed it,

and you don't have the energy to open it again,

so you just grab the hair

and pull,

and it falls over your tired shoulders anyway,

like dead leaves off a maple in autumn.

Valentine's day is over and

they keep telling you that

next year will be better,

and they keep telling you that

next year you'll be so loved,

even though love isn't what you craved this year.

Valentine's day is over and your mascara is running

and they think you've been crying,

and you think you have too,

but you're leaning over the toilet and

you yourself don't even know what is

bile and what is tears anymore,

because everything is coming out all at once

and you stopped caring,

stopped wiping your face when your mascara

started running.