Love is such a silly thing
Best known for the pain it brings
Desired still, and always bought
When all the gifts are all for naught.

Plodding through a dreary morass
Makes less sense than Pythagoras.
A heart's supposed to fly and leap,
Not quiver down beneath my feet.
And in the end,
Lovers always get their way.
At least, that's what the poets say.

A curse on Shakespeare's broken house!
He knew not what he wrote about.
But then again, if Love is nonsense
Transient, without a conscience,
Why must we always implore it?
As if it cares! Best to ignore it.

Now, if I were to have my way,
The dreadful thing, if it should stay
Would find itself with pressing need
To gain, for life, a different creed.

The way it is, the rules are this:
If you hate him, you shall kiss
The more you love, the less you live
And if you really think it true,
No rings, a simple knife will do
Between the ribs, right in the back.
(Extra points if in this pact
The best excuse would be because
'I did it all for you, my love.')