A poem filled with 'wHy'

Why do I love the sound of your voice
When my ears bleed from the same noise?

Why do I love the feel of your palm,
When I feel my skin burn against your arm?

Why do I get melancholic and depressed,
When the thought of me doesn't pop up in your head?

Why do I torture myself with a fantasy love,
When I know nothing I do will be enough?

My likes and dislikes don't mean a thing to you
Meanwhile I note down every thing about you.

I'm pathetic, I'm weak, I'm no match for you
And even if I was, what is there that I could do?

We are not meant to be and we never were,
At this point "I love you" would be a slur.