It would be so kind if love were merely blind.
Not seeing past my sweetheart’s mask
Would be a minor ax to grind.
Or even if love only, as it cured the lonely,
Caused stomach aches and palpitates,
I wouldn’t let it throw me.
But as I’ve come to know, love’s not a body blow.
My brain is dead inside my head.
Love’s a moron, an imbecile, and a bozo.