I love you. I hate you

I love you. I hate you. I love you.  I hate you. Ever measured. Impassioned, I would owe it. Revolted, I could it. Where to carry out us? To build, destroy. To make our love a field of flowers, a lot of ruins. To like with all to exaggerate. To like with all to devastate. To run, flee. To better find itself. Worse, to move away. So often repeated. Never to be left. Our devils have the force of our glares. They always survived our crashes. Who are only storms. Ridges of strong waves not putting to us at the festival. Violent one blows of heads. Who do not make badly, just to shout. One learned how to play about it. Our devils are worn there the claws. Our hearts do not bleed any more like the first times. Our love rebiffe. He fights, imposes his faith. One has need one for the other more than front. Otherwise. With less glares, less crash. Time put its grain of salt. Imperceptibly, fugacement, terribly to the sky. I love you. I hate you. I love you.  I hate you. They are only words. Passions, revolts, to carry out us. All up there. Until this idea that we want neither ruins, nor devastations. It would be damage. Our years flee. Without time to lose in cries. We do not have of it any more the age.