yay sanity slippage.
The Queen
Offering the blood of innocents
And murderers,
My hands, on my hands,
My hands laid down, offered,
Offered,
Out, damned spot! The blood of innocents
At your feet - does this
Make me stronger, make me
Stronger than you?
Would you step,
Would you set foot in the pool
Of blameless blood?
Of guilty blood?
Dirty blood, mudblood,
And I am of this blood,
I am the masthead,
The mind behind the claws,
The mistress of the house!
Kneeling, offering
How shameful, shameful –
If one would see, if one would see
The steely maiden of unwavering will
Bowed before another?
Scandal, scandal, unfit for the throne, scandal
Murderess!
Unsex me, I said.
Remove from me the milk of human kindness
Of womanly tenderness, I said;
Let it mingle with the blood
Of an infant on the floor,
On the altar of Ambition,
Smeared across the walls and the ceiling and
Peeling like dried paint-
Clean, clean, this place must
Be clean, flawless, we have guests – servants!
These halls must gleam with the
Silence of an open conscience.
O, silence, sweetness of blankness
Unmarred
Unmarred consciences sleep well for we of sin suffer purgatory for you.
Out out out out damn'd spot out—
And murderers, murderers,
This castle is home to murderers,
How shameful, shameful—
If one were to know it would be the death of all murderers!
I flock with murderers
I bed with murderers
I set the idea
Of murder
In his mind's untarnished stone
I am a murderer
My hands offered,
Offered,
Cut off and laid at your altar.
Bleeding the truth for the truth is red
Evermore bleeding for the truth is eternal
Bleeding from stumps for hands I have none,
My lord, my lord, have I ruled you? Have I counseled you?
Lend your strength to your Queen.
My hands are yours
Yours and red with the
Red with the
Bl-b-b-blo-blood
How I tremble so!
B-bl-
Where is your fortitude, Lady Macbeth? Where is your iron and your steel?
Where are your poison words and merciless greed?
Where is your strength that you tremble so much,
At the word b-bb-bb-bloo-ood-
At the sight of him your father him your father
Asleep and his head laid open?
My father? Or
King Duncan
His heart carved out
Inscribed with the seal of Cawdor
By the beaks of ravens?
Stars, hide your fires! He said,
He said for the night to cloak us,
He prayed for the darkness
To shield us.
Hark! –Peace!
Quiet your cries, o demon, demon
Murderess enchantress queen advisor
Trickster mentor temptress
Demon!
Macbeth! Demon's right hand
King of Scots, killer of goodness
Does God not strike you when you say your prayers?
Why does God not strike you?
Why does God deny us
To die, to sleep – perchance to dream?
Thou art my husband?
Or art thou a spirit,
A mad ghoul that transferred
From my tainted fingertips to his, that directs his movements
Because he talks not to me not to me not to me
Thought I was
I was his only
Thought I was his ruler his only voice
the Queen
Of his every member, the Red Queen of
Of Scots?
Macbeth doth murder sleep for the house is restlessly—
Murder! Murder, in my house? What!
No more of that, my lord,
Calm yourself, calm yourself; you make a fool of yourself
Before guests, my lord, calm
Calm, said I to the mirror, darkly.
I said to him "Wash and dress in your nightgown, for he is dead—"
Or thus saith I to me?
To bed!
To bed with the monster, with the murderer
Murderer, murderer!
To bed with the nightmares, to bed with the ghosts
That seep into those cracks in the mind—
Calm yourself, Queen of Scots.
How bitter the title! Queen of Scots?
Queen of murdered sleep
Murder,
Murderers and usurpers and
Lunatics!
Out, out, blemishes upon our throne!
Out, damn'd spots! Drown in thy own sin
Choke upon the bubbling glory that pulses
In my veins, my fingers
Lunatics, babbling lunatics, I will not have them –
My fingers have clutched the dagger or was it
Or was it thy hand, my lord, which I led
With gilded words rotten with death
With death—
Does your mind scream, my lord, as mine?
Calm yourself, Macbeth, thy fits are unseemly, unseemly.
Childhood grievances are better put to grave
When the last youthful impulse withers.
You have murdered
I have murdered
This house is drenched in bb-bl-oo-od
This castle
Offered,
An offering to appease the wrathful Satan
An offering to Satan, this house
This castle, this court, toppled from Paradise
Set at the gates of Hell
Set at the hands of Satan.
Hell is murky? Hell is bright?
Those stars have no fires here.
This house is steeped in sin, in hell, we are but demons
This, this
House
You
I have murdered
Murdered
You
I have mur-mur-m-murdered
You have murdered!
.
.
.
.
Me?
okay so um. yeah. Shakespeare was cool.
enjoy?