a rush of fools, in august, has contained the wise for now,
the way i thought that things were good had changed my view somehow.
but the well was ill, and ill-intentioned, teetering to fall,
and fall it did, crashing upon the martyr i had the gall
to make my sad self out to be, and though the old i knew,
the youth was there, my sins laid bare.
my debt is long past due.