I found you egotistically endearing, as if a precious symbol of all that is masculine
But now the only thoughts of mine I am hearing, they scream of how you unraveled me within
Shamefully I admit that your words were inside me, searing, and I had to mollify myself home, forlorn
So in your disregarding, degrading honor, here is unto you, a pointless little metaphor

Never again will I pass fondly by your detested form
As I smile blushingly, with small eyes, and I you adore
Never again will I feel insulted by such words and let myself be worn
Oh, forgive me, have I not yet used a metaphor?

I hope you become grotesque and grimy; those who laugh now will sneer later then
I hope you become sickly and slimy, so that you may run short of jokes with which you cater them
And as I sit here, I drift and wonder what I write this stupid poem for
Forget it; I’ll go write them, whilst you tiredly examine more metaphors

A few last words though, before I leave, and my previous zeal, deceive
A few last comments I was too paralyzed by grief to say before
Many a time I thought you able to understand this fable, in my mind I’d weave
Oh well, many a time, my poetic mind made even you a metaphor