penelope the cockroach loved oberon the king of fairies

Everything you say makes my day less depressing.
The image of you are colors in a painting;
Hours together is an opulent day in spring,
And the only thing that could compare is nothing.
Nothing, like my chances of having your loving.

In this timeline, my chances are thin as shoestring.

Learning this never stopped me from ever soaring;
On my head rejection, I flew with my torn wing,
Verily hoping, you could accept my loving,
Even though what I’m doing leaves nothing but sting.

You will never give me the love I’d wish you’d bring.
Overt affection I knew for me you’d not sing,
Under these restrictions, you’re still my only king.

Sunder is my heart, you tore apart the whole thing;
Oh, but my wails are softer than a bug’s forewing.

Murdering myself with shadows and self-loathing,
Uttering words that never crossed my hearing,
Closing to darkness the more of you I’m thinking,
How cruel, my king. How cruel of you, my king!