A hated soul

A soul that is a victim of its own hatred, is empty, while still full. Fuller than those who emit fumes of their own confidence. Some bound and hold themselves captive in their own hearts. Life seems more fulfilling that way. One who stares into their own soul, is one who reads emotions in bold. A hated soul has no hatred. An empty hand holds no pain. A lonely soul looses its sight towards gain, for a hated soul sees perfection in all but themselves. A jealous soul is a book within a different library. The bag filled full to the brim with jealousy, spills to blood of others' minds in a trail of pursuit. A hated soul commodifies good, for their own good doing is a diamond in a vacant mine. A hated soul needs no validation, for it stops feeling its own invalidity, in due time. A hated soul has no hatred. An empty hand holds no pain. A lonely soul stops seeking gain, for they pray at night, to feel love again.