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- Messages
- 138
- Pronouns
- me, myself, and I
My soul is tangled, a dark arras woven
Of vows I swore, and promises ungiven.
Her touch is treason, though my heart is pure,
A fatal draught for which there is no cure.
To see her smile across the table’s edge,
My lawful sister, perched upon a ledge
Of mortal sin, where virtue falls to rust—
To love my brother's Queen is but my lust.
And yet, this fever finds a cunning cure,
A vile design to make my passion sure.
I sought no potion, nor a ghostly charm,
But fashioned forth a thing that holds no harm
To her chaste body, though it steals the rest:
A monster wrought of jealousy and jest.
This creature is no brute with broken bones,
But ambition given flesh, in whispered tones.
I've stripped my goodness, cloaked it in a shell,
And set my darkest shadow forth to dwell
Within her sight, to stand in my own stead,
To act the part where my true self lies dead.
He courts her now with wit I dare not claim,
A brazen proxy whispering my name,
A flawless copy, lacking only soul,
Who plays the Lover to achieve his goal.
He is the mirror of the crime I crave,
The living lie that sets me on the grave
Of moral law; a sin-made Homunculus,
Whose every act is gloriously taboo, and thus
Absolves my hand, yet doubles my offense.
For I have loosed my identity without defense.
When his cold kiss upon her brow descends,
It is my passion that wickedly transcends
The brother's bed, the Church's ancient law.
I watch them closely, and wanting it all
Oh, sweet, forbidden madness! I am split:
The honest man that love cannot submit,
And the dark monster—smooth, deceitful, grand—
Who steals her heart, built by my own command.
Thus is my love a tragedy complete:
Two souls destroyed, yet our communion sweet.
And in this vile usurpation of the mind,
The truest comfort does the villain find.