When hate melts

into swirls,

it cannot transform

into love,

trust, or sweet forgetfulness.

Hate's underbelly,

crimson cracked,

acidic fissures

still bubbling,

mutates slowly into

exposed forgiveness.

A tender scar, sensitive to light.

And when the exposed

feeling begins to fade,

can you see them

under the rubble?

Crushed lungs.

They're waiting for you,

ravenous for flexibility,

hoping you'll set them free.