Chaucerian Acrostic
Can anyone accuse you of pretence?
Are you inflicting pain for pain’s own sake?
So little can be said in your defence –
Unless you have some argument to make,
Apart from spitting venom like a snake.
Less culpable than you are snakes, I swear:
They do their damage, blithely unaware.
You knew precisely when, and where, and whence –
Or if you’d rather, planned the steps to take,
Fomenting consciously this pestilence –
You find my words too grand? You’ve got brain-ache?
Okay, let’s say you knew which bough to shake.
Unmitigated mayhem, deep despair
Results in calm. Today, there’s nothing there.
Considered as a love, it was immense.
Regarded as a person, you’re a fake.
Unusually, passionate, intense?
Exactly. So much bitterer the break.
Love blinded me. The thing was my mistake.
The fault was yours, of course. But, to be fair,
You’re not a psychopath. You just don’t care.
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