Passion, Fear, and Rue

I can't stand being near you any more.
Your speech revolts me, I feel only hate
For how you scrape the wax beans from your plate,
Your eyes bug out like saucers; you're a bore;
Among the things I can only deplore
Are your aversion to the truth, your mate,
And your devotion to the second-rate.
I liked you once; I can't recall what for.

Despising those who spend their time with you,
I'm torn between not caring and ennui,
Between distress and baffled urgency.
What matters is that people passing through
Should comprehend my passion, fear, and rue
As simple, heartfelt animosity.