A limerick

There once was a guy named Kyle,
Who did things with his very own style,
It didn't matter what you'd say,
He'd do it his own way,
And he'd pob'ly end up making you smile.

I asked him if I could put him in a story,
He said only if it was scary and gory,
If I make him look wussy,
He'd make me eat pussy,
Then he'd get me drunk and dress me all whory.

I promised to make him look tough,
Not mean, but manly and rough,
He said that'd be okay,
As long as he was still gay,
And he didn't look like a wimpy powder-puff.

So on a story I started to work,
I made him tough, but not like a jerk,
But as the story came in,
Kyle came to his own end,
Leaving me alone and terribly hurt.

Now the world is so cold,
My heart has turned to stone,
The story remains undone,
The words just no longer come,
And an eagle soars home alone.