Woe be the instrument by which you struck down this delicate heart! Veins and love torn asunder on the rocks! Your betrayal and all your unsaid grievances have Struck me repeatedly to the chest! Oh! What is woe?! What is I?! What is a dream that never truly dies?! I only know the terror of your love! An act of passion so swift in the night, never to imagine consequences would find you come mornings light! I kicked up my skirts and ran for the stairs. As if being nolonger in your presence could burn, no, DISSOLVE, the image of your treachery from my mind. Caught in your grasp! Staring into the eyes of a beast! Yells of fearsome volume rattle against my eardrums. I am but a whore. A whore to your whimsical desires but naught be my tricks and empty be my sleeves for all the good it did for me! To the bed of another you have slept! Tell me, did you spill your seed across her sheets and fill her head with delusions of grandeur?! I will die at the foot of the stairs! My mouth has been too quick and your anger is flaring like the pits of hell are in your eyes. I can see that you will fling me carelessly from your grasp, caring not for where I might land! Lovers delight in passion and is there no finer passion than in the dance of death?