When I was born red faced and screaming loud,
And praised and blessed, beloved (the last I'd be),

My parents' faces glowed with feelings proud,
The face I would become they could not see.

But now that face [disgrace] I have become.
While Chad and Stacey form that two backed beast,

His tarse she sucks; an infant to its thumb,
And on that thumb the brainless infant feasts.

And what can I consume but lonely thoughts?
Such hollow things do not, desire, sate,

'Gainst sexless hunger Stacey's never fought,
She always finds herself a six-foot mate.

I'm told to be myself and nothing more;
Can I be loved when I, myself, abhor?