Analysis of Nobody’s Son

I’m nobody’s son.
Nobody’s lover.
Nobody’s fun.

I feast upon the sadness,
lick the spoon clean of grease
and feel it smear across my cheeks.

I’m nobody’s son.
Nobody’s partner.
Nobody’s fun.

It’s as if my body is a picture frame.
It hangs on the wall for gleeful ambience
and reflects a repulsive embrace.

I’m nobody’s son.
Nobody’s fucker.
Nobody’s fun.

My hands are strung up on puppet strings,
I’m pulled every which way - ripped to shreds -
double shred. And fuck my dreams thereafter.

I’m nobody’s son.
Nobody’s lover.
Nobody’s fun.