F is the cruelest letter
It tells you that it will never get better
That you are, and always will be
A failure, don’t you see?
This is your destiny, preordained
Molded by your own hands that have stained
Yourself, and everything around you
A deep, twisted blue
So do not aspire, do not dream
For life does not burst at the seams
With joy, mirth and green
Because for you, only one thing is foreseen
An end, a quiet end
So that you may send
Yourself to deepest black
Which shall take all that you lack
And consign it to silence
A most fitting penance
For a fool such as you