I have no words

of comfort for the likes of you,

my sad, charmed boy.

Jove's bloated court echoes with snores,

yours loudest, when I wander through.

I have no words

to make my cratered form cohere:

banished hunter, raped virgin, beast.

You sad, charmed boys

think toting Chardonnay's a dream,

but Jove still fucks you in your sleep.

I have—no, words

can't compare with mouthfuls of hair

and bile. Our void has no echo,

my sad, charmed boy,

so don't ask me to conjure up

your soft grass bed. I'm all darkness,

I have no words,

O sad, charmed boy.