Irony.

I am the crime and the criminal
when passion irks my inner soul
Lest these desires fill my heart's empty hole,
that may perception of this life lived
To be unknown?
May it only be a figment of the mind.

Seemingly, I'd rather live solely
Like the beast in his bowl
Like the boy in his bubble
Like the son beneath no sun

I'd rather live with no joy,
monotonous in my days
Never to encounter a decoy
Lest my heart burn like the majestic city of Troy.

I'd rather live scorned
For passion had strove Medea
and love had killed Helen,
The outcomes of an incomparable and small idea.

Look at this irony we call life.
Love kills lovers
Hope destroys hoper's
Sins demolish sinners

and our knowing defeats knower's.