Narrative

Yet I would slowly, knowingly beg for death, 
for lusts touch on my heart, 
purged the reason from my mind... 
asit slowly gave me thought to believe, 
that what I had done was carried from the purest of intentions... 
yet the sound of my voice remained frail, 
and womanish... 
for the quake of my hand, revealed the fear which I took, 
from the corpse of my dearest of friends. 
And lifted veils, 
turned my eyes sympathetically northward, 
away from the undeniable future, 
of a life, now laiden in blood.

WoesThroughFatalOutrage