Love be not lovely;
Be not smitten with desire,
So as to not see what thee does to me
With thine own accord but be steadfast and hunch back in repose.

For love you are lust,
You are but an attractive illusion to those too feeble to linger
yet I am still a stranger to your vindictive sweet powers
Love…
What are you love?

And how long must one remain until they can experience the pure touch of it?
I want love, but why must I fear the constant flicker of hope for it?
Why do I act this way towards you?
It must be because you are untrue,
And I a fool for thinking you innocent.
Love, why does thou do’st this to me?