– The Line –
O, why must I be Hamlet?
Two feet walking step by step
along a line that is paved with blood.
Poison in my heart, pierced.
To my left I see a family,
all smiling like they mean it, yet
plotting my demise.
I must deny you, sweet girl.
The right is all-destroying Darkness.
Though true, it’s right, but is it right?
Whether ‘tis nobler to agree,
or walk the endless walk of Time
and His cruel agony,
perhaps soft Sleep will tell. To sleep
perchance to dream. Dream forever.
O, Ophelia, why can I not choose like you?
Sleeping with the fish, warm in the riverbed,
I envy you.
To sleep the final sleep, it’s true,
may not have been your choice.
But you could make one.
The crazy girl that sung
and broke out in hysterics just because she could,
because your fate was sealed by foul lips
that uttered words like nails to your coffin.
You were so pretty. They thought it a waste.
You made the choice to take it, crushed
though you were by the weight of your rejection.
I could not, cannot, choose.
I walk the line once more, my dear Ophelia.
I do not, will not, drown.
My eternal Princess of the deep.
I am but Hamlet,
and I’ll never choose.