Musings of the Mad

I’ve got no time for love poems for

My verses seldom sate

Any wont for cheerfulness

In my frenetic haste.

I hate the man who loved you back

When I was seventeen.

An eager sort of lad, I was,

Obsessed with being seen.

I hate the fact I never loved

You deeper than your skin.

That I so confused lust for love.

I won’t do that again.

I hate that everyone I’ve loved

Has always loved me less.

That no one’s ever loved as deep

As I did you, obsessed.