Love, it seems, a double blade,
A force of light, that makes me fade.
Its gaze, a torch that lights my core,
Yet leaves me trembling, weak and sore.
And love—how soft, how sweet, how cruel!
A mortal’s game, a blunted tool.
You think it breaks the endless shade,
But all it does is make me frayed.
Do not love me—I am night,
Born of shadows, shunning light.
Leave me be; let darkness swell,
For in its depth, I thrive, I dwell.
Your words are chains, your heart a snare,
A burden I am forced to bear.
I am no vessel for your light,
I choke on love; I breathe the night.
Yet here you come with foolish grace,
To paint your warmth upon my face.
Your love is noise, a cloying ache,
And I, a storm, must never break.
So don’t bring me love—I’ve no desire
For warmth that sets my nerves on fire.
Your tender words, your gentle tone,
They feel like weights; leave me alone.
Your care—unasked, your gaze—unwanted,
Your gestures leave my soul exhausted.
Let me be cold, let me be free,
From love’s relentless tyranny.
You think love heals, a soothing balm,
But in my chest, it sparks no calm.
Instead, it claws, it burns, it grates,
A force I neither need nor take.
It weakens me, it breaks my pride—
Begone, and let the dark abide.
No love, no chains, no weary tone—
I’d rather walk my paths alone.
