I walked this world
Aware of its wounds
My soul forsaken
By knowledge
Of the truth
I waited in time
To recover from my walk
But the wounds kept bleeding
My flesh strong
But not my soul inside
Thoughts keep screaming
Asking me again
And again
How much better it would be
To be alive
Rather than this waking death
And ongoing suicide
The raven himself is hoarse
That croaks the fatal entrance of Duncan
Under my battlements.
William Shakespeare, Macbeth
