A patient boy, those seem so hard to find.

Disgust you showed not as I made a mess.

And gradually you worked into my mind

Until I could do naught but tell you yes.

Though you had low regards for how you look,

You were a frequent subject of my art.

Your scent, your voice, your dorkiness, they took

And penetrated my once guarded heart.

Did I, with hope and you, it overfill?

My fault, was it? Did I you fail to please?

So much that it had naught to do but spill?

Or was this whole relationship a tease?

If so, I've no respect for you, you dick.

Excuse me while I sob into the Snick.