three-two pitch in poetry

Baseball will break your heart,
stomp on it, burn the remains,
scatter the ashes at sea then
ask you out again in April.

Baseball will tear your flesh off
tan your hide and render your fat
sell your skin back as a logo hat
and somehow you’ll still love it.

Baseball will burrow down deep
eat your heart as if maggots
bloom into ten million flies
that will burst out your chest
take you on wings to the sky
drop you from orbit as you die
and you’ll only admire the view
that’s what baseball does to you
and I love it?

Oh God, why do I love it?
I must be insane.
When’s spring training start?