Written as a message to Cupid, the poem is a bitter question aimed at love itself. The speaker wants to know why love seems to enjoy watching people suffer and sacrifice everything, only for the whole thing to feel like "a game of cards" and "a fucked up match." Love comes across as a careless player who shuffles people together and doesn't care who loses.
The most pointed moment is the question about the word "soulmate." If a match is planned out, the speaker asks, how can it be called something so meaningful? There's a real sense of confusion here, as though fate has turned out to be a trick. The demand to be answered "as soon as you get this message" makes the poem feel like a text sent in anger or desperation, and the closing line, "From the broken / To the heartbreaker," signs off like a letter. The mood is raw, hurt and accusing, with the plain, blunt language making the pain feel immediate rather than polished.