Fool

Am I the fool, for loving? Or are you the fool, for not?

An interesting fool,
To be uninterested in passion's thrush
Simply put, it must be me
This heart has me laying
Within that thorny bush
The bleeding, though,
Isn't from abundant spines
Moreso from the fissures carved
Tripping over these silver lines
An interesting fool I must be
To write so longingly
For passion's hush
My capacity is even a marvel to me,
Do others ever want it this much?