My Pentecostal terror of the ever-changing tide,
Tells volumes of the reasons why I feel the need to hide,
The adoration that we share, it presently means bupkis,
‘Cause underneath my underwear, a shriveled worm produces,
The “milk of life” my teachers taught, that should never be wasted,
So here I sit, just simmering, in my own fetid juices,
But I really think we share something; I’d wager we could do this,
I’d even leave my easy chair
To prove that I’m not worthless,
A shower would be at the top of
My list’s important changes,
Wear some new clothes,
Hell, brush those teeth!
So you would not feel wasted,
Why, I would even leave the house,
If you’d make it worthwhile…
You know, I feel a ton of shame, for how I have been living,
A suck-off might help my self-esteem,
And you seem prone to giving.