"Is this a dagger which I see before me? The handle toward my hand?" I declare, as I stare down at the small knife in my hand through the tears welling up from my eyes. "Come, let me clutch thee." All of a sudden, I throw the blade across the room, the urge to do so just too strong to resist, it falls to the across the room. "I have thee not, and yet I see thee still." I descend onto my knees in frustration and anxiety, and stare at the sharpened metal at the foot of my bed.
"Art thou not fatal vision sensible to feeling as to sight?" I say as I reach for it with my hands numbed by desperation, but my heartache keeps me in place. "Or art thou but a dagger of the mind proceeding from the heat oppressed brain?" I ask out loud, running the back of my hand over my sweat-covered forehead.
"I see thee yet in form as palpable as this which now I draw." I state as I pull out the hate-filled letter that was sent to me from someone who used to care. "Thou marshall'st me the way I was going, and such an instrument I was to use." I affirm as the tears begin to flow down my cheeks for the second time that evening.
"Mine eyes are made the fools of the other senses, or else worth all the rest I see thee still." I announce with a combination of disbelief and loathing to the letter before me as I toss it away. I look back at the beckoning blade, and continue on. "And on thy blade, gouts of blood, which was not so before." I add as I stare apprehensively at the dried blood from previous self-induced pain. "There's no such thing: it is the bloody business that informs thus to mine eye." I narrate, as I wish that I had no need for the weapon, and that it would disappear from sight forever.
My tears abate, and I am filled with dreadful purpose as I continue on, my emotions dulled into gray. "Now over the one half world nature seems dead and wicked dreams abuse the curtained sleep." I whisper. My glance moves over my room stopping now at my burnt out candles. "Witchcraft celebrates pale Hecat's offerings and withered murder" I pause as I hear the mournful cry of a desolate hound from a nearby dwelling"alarmed by his sentinel the wolf, whose howl's his watch, thus with his stealthy pace, with Tarquin's ravishing strides, towards his design moves like a ghost."
The wind picks up suddenly and my attention is drawn to the window, which is thrown open, sending my hair whipping about me, getting to my feet to reach the awaiting blade. "Thou sure and firm set earth, hear not my steps, which way they walk, for fear thy very stones prate of my whereabout." I stop, a foot away from the fallen knife. " and take the present horror from the time which now suits with it." I end, breathlessly, as I look out the window for my sign of an approaching person.
"Whiles I threat, I livewords to the heat of deeds too cold, breath gives." I take a deep breath after I flinch because the phone has started to ring. I rapidly drop the floor, pick up the knife and press it down on the yielding flesh on my wrist. "I go and it is done, the bell invites me." I breathe in sharply as the bittersweet pain overcomes me. I can't help but grin, because this time I've won. I won't be stopped or forgotten. I settle myself on the plush carpet beneath me, and close my eyes, awaiting the precious release.
*the end*
final tirade