Hated Eros

It is the original Eros, first born of Earth and Heaven, primal, elemental, who has struck my flesh with feathered flames and blinded my mind within a labrynth of falsely lighted night. Against such raw forces of pure nature, I am absolutely nothing, save but as an irritating spark in your eye and never more than a flagrant leaf torn apart by those fiery winds shot from the ethers of Tartarus.
I scream at the Gods above and at the Titans below to grant me the key, any key, for my quick release! But, like you, they refuse to answer, remaining as silent as their rotted-out temples and the scattered dust of forgotten offerings left by history's countless love-sick fools.
If only you would cause me to hate you completely, instead of this half-measure notion pierced and polluted by arrow points of taunting memory and false hope, then I could complete my chosen and godless destiny to string my own flames and let fly the stars. Then, and only then, could I thank you for your lessons, light a flame in your memory and thus forget you utterly.