"Reg, J

From where I sit, you seem troubled.
An affording further, thee,
Your heart belongs to another.
And yet you temper to remember she.

With whom there was a love.
A love, of which you lost.
And yet breath, of memories no more.
Sprinkled with **** and you call it gloss.

You bear such trouble, such aimless need,
For one of whom hates you so.
But death is such a boring end!
I want to know how far you'll go.

So I make an offer, I won't lie.
Find me where eyes are lathed in greed.
And I will appear to you, but once.
And arm you with what you need.

To run your foolish errand.
And continue your forsaken goal.
When me and my brothers laugh at you.
And how much suffering will take its toll.

O' cursed soul, how much I see you weep.
But know this idiotic cause quite just.
Because the divine will blame you as the world cannot take you."

The final line of this poem is lost.