A very yellow fellow, now all mellow,
Drowns his grief in a drink.
He's gambled away a lot, left only his thoughts,
Cross-linked with unusual kink.
There's nothing else, just empty shells,
Of dreams he's been dreaming.
The intimacy gone, just an act on,
Nothing in his past, worth redeeming.
He hopes life will be brief, end of all grief,
Nothing is great anymore.
What else is there, he's lost all his flair,
A lonely impotent miserable whore.
This rum, mixed with cum,
Didn't want the ejaculate to go waste.
A morbid mind, a breed of a kind,
A gloomy spiral of doom and distaste.
