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.