The fatphobia has gone beyond internal,
it is fucking deep-rooted and rectifies my entire entity.
She’ll kiss me for pity if I'm lucky.
I’ll pleasure the first girl I'm with and she wont in return and I’ll be fucking happy.
Then I’ll finally know for sure that the grotesque gremlin I see in my dreams with other women is me.

Loving me romantically is a loose story, equally empty.

But finding me tempting is a castle in the fucking sky,
which I'm sure she’d rather watch than fuck me.