Chaucerian Acrostic

Can anyone accuse you of pretence? Are you inflicting pain for pain’s own sake? So little can be said in your defence – Unless you have some argument to make, Apart from spitting venom like a snake. Less culpable than you are snakes, I swear: They do their damage, blithely unaware. You knew precisely when, and where, and whence – Or if you’d rather, planned the steps to take, Fomenting consciously this pestilence – You find my words too grand? You’ve got brain-ache? Okay, let’s say you knew which bough to shake. Unmitigated mayhem, deep despair Results in calm. Today, there’s nothing there. Considered as a love, it was immense. Regarded as a person, you’re a fake. Unusually, passionate, intense? Exactly. So much bitterer the break. Love blinded me. The thing was my mistake. The fault was yours, of course. But, to be fair, You’re not a psychopath. You just don’t care.