Steven is miserable

Steven is miserable
Steven just got a job
He sits in the sun
And doesn’t feel a
Damn thing from the waist up
In his tight ass a black plug
Even when he contracts
Hard around the latex
Ball he hardly feels any pain
Steven knows he’s a narrow
Minded selfish prick
For feeling anything other
Than extremely thankful
He earn more money than 99%
Of humanity and yet sees fit
To spend his days on the
Tyranny of idleness as
The upper classes of an
Earlier age
Steven is an utter miserable cunt
And he knows it full well
Even when his life seems to
grovel and skitter and clog
its way to a total stand still
at the bottom of his
god forsaken empty whiskey glass
Steven is miserable
Even when his girlfriend
Patiently laughs at his
Quarter baked lame
Dad jokes
Even when a new
beginning is right there
in front of him
presenting itself to
him in magic numbers
written with lemon
juice on the walls
If only his neurosis for
Any kind of real
Work would abide
For just a single minute
If only his miserable mind
Would allow him to
Partake in the life
He is actually living
Which would be
Like putting down a newspaper
Looking up and seeing the face
Of a big mouthed woman
Drawing first blood
While finger-fucking
his dejected ass
Rather he choses
To wait for the life
He is perpetually
Longing for to start
Any minute soon
The life of a hero
A true hero laughing at death
Some kind of immoral
Immortal dirty rotten
Scoundrel
Rather than the cleaner
Of spittoons he is stuck
With all day and all night