Love is such a faulty thing

Love is such a faulty thing,

An empty little pill,

A concept all imagining,

And holes that cannot fill.

A rising up on crest of wave

And pretending that we fly.

Ridiculous, we act surprised,

In consequential dive.

The fairy tales we tell ourselves

And spread around the herd

Of holy things and other realms,

When's just hormones we stir.

But thinking on the facts of it –

My brain self-dosing drugs –

It seems a waste to think there on,

Our time, so not enough.

For if computer's all I am,

If chance did give me breath,

Well, futility cannot exist

When all things end in death.

Because it's all comparative,

And presumes ends good and bad.

But all ends being equal ends…

I love the love I've had.