Antony

While Ophelia stubbornly suffered in her loyal yet pain-heavy silence, he, Antony, the previous cursed lover of Cleopatra, was too far gone in his own past tragedies to care. She was a past time for him. She would do anything for him and he knew that, yet he still exploited her for his own narcissistic entertainment.
Sometimes, he would prove her impression of him false, but many a times he had proved it all too accurate. Could this harlot be trusted with the heart of the broken and powerless? Certainly not. So how could she persist like this when she knew he was no good for her...

She tried reaching out to him. She tried to bring out the innocence she most despondently tried to connect with, but of course the pernicious thorn kept blocking her out.
Ophelia tried and tried but if he kept pushing her away she would no longer try and he would drift away like an ethereal cloud in a water-lillied sky. He didn't need her. He'd never need her. But she needed him, desperately. Her hope lay in this one Angel of Darkness' hands and he would  undoubtedly crush it. Her eternal radiance of  innocence and naivete would be extinguished and her hope in humanity's kindness extirpated.

Crack all my bones

You will find me ill with feeling

and crippled by a pathetic hope.

Small wisdoms are small victories

I am doing my best, but I am failing

at holding my tongue,

my breath,

my self,

away from you and your treacherous lyrics,

apart from your febrile mysteries

I am weak; submissive nature beleaguers me

I am sick; I warn you not to treat me

For you are the disease that plagues me;

withers me with love in your pyretic wake

I tremble in dread torment and longing

as I feel each step that encroaches

…closer to me.

Tread lightly, lover, for it is you who crushes parallels.

Crux Essentia

I will soothe your pain if you return the favour,
I've got nothing for you to gain, but charity the gain itself ,
You are better than I could ever hope to be,
Is it your charming nature or impure essentia that has my web labyrinthine,
This life isn't enjoyable when you're not around but morose when you are,
Your presence haunts my actions and introspection and
Proficiently taints my love with acrimonious disdain.

An existential void

I am worthless.

The pain of staying here everyday and battling myself is too great for the sadness that fills everyday of my life. I don't believe people when they say you shouldn't change your identity for those that don't even matter... but it's the opinion of those who don't matter that sticks deep. They expect everyone to be perfect and to look perfect and to dress perfectly. But I can never be perfect, no matter how much I push and pull, starve and eat; I can never achieve this goal that society has set before me.

Who am I to get attention. I am not appealing.. I am practically dead inside and I don't blame anyone for hating me. I hate me too...