Thoughts in Despair

Thunderous fury flows through my veins in a great stream of displeasure,
Surrounded perpetually by an army of fools, all moronic and vulgar.
They tease me with great satisfaction like candid little demons.
I am no less than a martyred soul, I am no more than a naïve child;
a carpet for the manipulative beasts to walk on endlessly.
The question begs; do I enjoy it?

Lovefool, silly little lovefool, will you never learn?
The rules are tediously plain, condescendingly simple.
Play the game and you shall be contented.
Why suffer to yourself? Why mock yourself? Why disappoint yourself?
Have you not heard? There’s no love to be found for the masochist.
Those shall be loved whom can adore themselves first.