Love is pain, sorrow
it is guilt, paranoia.
Love is desperation,
and impossible expectations.
It is never pure, joyous, uplifting.
Love is a tormenting burden.
Who wants that?
It is voluntary anguish, rose-scented.
It is self-inflicted torture, candle-lit.
Not me, thank you.
There is no love-
only sorrow with a smile-
even worse than the honest sort.
Remind me, who wants this?