gone astray,
through some deeper, darker,
unimaginable brush children talk myths
around;
& everyone who may love you
or may have at some time now
bygone, tunes into your misery,
giving you their condolences aloud,
& quietly muttering, "Better you than me."
All's left is someone who loves you,
lost in child-borne myth,
whose shadow cowers under
the smolder of the poison fugue
of those who no longer loves
or would love to see you lost with
that someone
Dontrell Lovet't
from, [Blotted Etches]
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