To The Not-So-Dear Poem by Matthew Johnson

Dear love (though not so dear) , have pity on me:
Do not taunt me thus, leave me be. I am
Broken and spent, like an old beggar bent
With years of living but on sufferance.
Broken is my heart from your soul-splitting glance.
Spent memory of our time from hell is sent,
Tormenting me. Your kind words have me damned,
Dream-deformed, tainted: my mind will not be free.
By this you have set your enchanting curse,
And still it is not enough to satisfy.
What would to an eye for off-promise thirst,
And a heart with a mouthful of alibi?
False promise. False hope. False everything.
Yet not all false. Do not taunt me thus, dear thing.