Innocuous

I've endured better times in the slump.
Those were the glory days,
The real days of triumph.
But what we have now is sickening,
Far too heart rendering!
Imprisoned and disposed, to our impulsive nature;
To live composed of this, pungent caricature.
Oh how this irritates me, and I only have myself to blame.
Yet, I hate you for it; for this burning desire,
This thing I simply cannot tame!

I am mad, my senses have eluded me once again.
My conscience unsparingly writing on my thoughts,
Like an irremovable pen.
Am I not a man, can't I simply understand?
With beauts like these, I should run to the plagues.
Yet this unamed feeling; is far more determined,
Than perpetual plagues.
It yields not, it disturbs and plots;
It clothes the impurities and conceals rots.
A victim I am of this trance...
Well, that's not too bad
It has marauded many others in France.
They make wine for this stuff!

They applaude and serenade in it,
Way too incitingly; so many become exhausted in the bliss
And commit.
After all its "harmless"...

Love is the great mathematical equation, it gives you everything.
Yet you'll never be able to compute it.
It confuses all!
It drives us crazy,
Then sends us way over the wall!
L'amour n'a pas seulement des actes à ne pas faire...