Poison
The Poison that runs in my blood,
reminds me, of the virtues,
I loose,
virtues, I have lost.
The world rests in dust,
finally, at last.
Poison, the vices that call me.
Vices, that promise diffusion of pain.
Pain, that mars me for so long.
Forsake me, Forlorn Pain,
Pain, far gone.
And I talk of, then, words,
of dreams, of deeds, of
moments, of worlds apart,
and, ere I part,
I seek to undo my past.
Rest! Behold! Bestow! Betroth!
The poison makes me mortal.
For the virtues are gone,
and, the vices,
the vices are me,
is me.
The vices are what I was,
I am,
I will be.
