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Murderer
He murdered your precious muse.
Standing there,
he read it aloud,
mockingly.
Who knows?
Perhaps he was jealous
of your brilliance.
And wanted to be mentioned
in the same vein
as you,
somehow.
Or maybe
it was just a ruse
to use
the words he could never muster
on his own,
and taste
the radiance
of words well spoken.
Either way,
a boy,
picking on girls he can't have,
is at best
a forgotten scab
on that beautiful body
that is
your work.
