I love you a bit more each minute each day.
Every move you make, every breath you say.
My words in your ear, all pure, forever true.
To you, I cannot lie... I hate my love for you.

Your fearless heart shadows dishonest flaws.
Such realty slashes my spirit with jagged claws.
A perfect damaged spirit coincides with mine.
What insatiable addiction am I, forbidden wine.

Dearest one, you strive rigidly to reach my heart.
An object so frail, a single breath could shred apart.
T’is damaged goods my beloved does seek.
Avert your attention from that meaningless streak.

I am the thorn that never had a rose.
I am the road no traveler ever chose.
You touched those thorns, walked that path.
You felt my prick and feared my wrath.

What makes me worthy of such superlative value?
Why does air and nourishment have none to you?
Countless thornless roses occupy the infinite room.
How curious you choose this one that cannot bloom.

Too bad I am blind to the beauty you see.
Oblivious am I to what your heart sees.
Why hate my love for you, you wonder?
Because only the reaper should cherish this blunder.