To have outraged the wrath in you from ink,
Would leave a Chinese whisper to immerse,
Itself as many whom dispersed methink,
May have from an intention viewed far worse',
For leaving not disdain, than tender phrase,
To dwindle since when'd I become that curse?
Without foreseeing mention - giving praise,
For a misguided youth of words to choose.
I see before me now a glimpse of hurt,
Which not alone, compares to what is Hell,
A conscience too bewildered to convert,
Adds nothing for the Nature one would, well...
...Would not concede to dwelling on the past,
For having whispered first, regretting last.