To err is human, but to love is simply unforgivable:
To suffer the wrath of forever being unrequited
At the hands of the woman of whom you’ve cherished
Forever wondering how someone so tender could care so little.
Wandering through life, this truth may never be learned:
That love is nothing but a sick, perverted game,
A test of will by which we all perish the same,
Through the foolish emotions which we are all concerned.
Now understanding, I no longer partake in this err of my ways,
Desperately searching for love through these long, limping days;
And never will I hold such high esteem or such caring,
Then for the woman who so carelessly opened my eyes;
Of whom my lustrous thoughts and dreams I now feverishly despise
For destroying my forsaken love and abandoning this lonely being.