Let me count the ways.

I hate thee to the depth and breadth and height my soul can reach.

I hate thee so large that though it burdens my mind, I strive for a greater measure,

So deep that my venom to your veins soothes my heart

That I would walk for days through a blistering hell just to spit my last breath to your face.

I hate thee that if I loved thee like I hate thee, my heart could never love again,

That I would hold an Anaheim Ducks fan in an embrace as a brother if he stabbed thee in the heart you don’t carry.

I hate thee with a thirst your greed could never reach.

I am consumed by its taste and hunger for more.

I hate thee for what your ambassador is to the core of his being – an imp with cloven feet and forked tongue,

Because you are the symbol of all that is dishonor. You are its metaphor, its face of disgrace.

I hate thee that when I rest my head this night, I will look forward to the morrow, to find a renewed verve to hate thee.