Though my stars be dark and my spirit black
It is not without reason that you find this lack
Of empathy, pity, mercy, or care
For others of similar gare.
My stars were darkened by the sun
Whose brilliance left them outdone
And my spirit blackened by the same token
Outstripp'd by a brighter beast awoken.
The shadow of my counten'ce
Beshadow'd and beshroud'd by the shade of one higher
Who has a larger presence
And had their foothold prior.
I seem bitter, dark, betrayed, and old
Because what I have, the world will scold
As pale imitation, a useless configuration
Of pieces made before my imagination
And everywhere I turn
I feel this hellish burn.
Above and below, betwixt and between
There is no place where I can be seen
No room in this prison concrete
Where I am bound to my backrow seat
So pity to you
The artist who can do
The things that I wish were me.