Alone am I. Is this what has become of me
Sitting in mine own sorrow and regret
With only a pen that has caused tragedy
Yes. Writing many a tale, did I but
Ending in a death or deaths most foul
Have I always been a man of this nature?
Acting as my own God in a sense
When writing my plays depicting how one should die
Losing thy life to old age or to be taken away
By ones own self. Suicide shameful act is thee.
Nor to Heaven with thy soul but to Hell
To dwell with Haiti in his hot prison
Death has always been just another scene
And yet I wonder to myself
Do I have unresolved anger towards
My father for pulling me away from
My studies of writing and poetry
At the time only but thirteen was I
Paying for my fathers financial mistakes
Is composing such colorfully cruel
Ends to a persons life my composure
Brutus of Julius Caesar commanding
A simple servant to hold the sword that
He should throw himself upon to run away
From a battle knowing he shall lose
Romeo sipping the sweetest of poisons
In thine own shameful grief of Juliet
Alas Juliet seeing her beloved
As cold as ice with death written in her eyes,
She takes his dagger with a swift motion
Plunging it into herself as if a race for death
To be with Romeo forever more
Oh MacBeth even you had a story to tell
Killing Duncan with every last breath in your body
Just to fulfill a prophecy told by
The weirdest of the weird sisters
Afraid of Banquo realizing the truth
Behind the bloodshed of Duncan’s death
Getting rid of him was his only option
What has become of the great Shakespeare?
Death has now become apart of me
What is this, do mine eyes deceive me

He greets me with light of Heaven itself
Never looking back on the life I once had
I am here, ready to write my new story