My absolute worst fear,
worse than being empty,
worse than insanity,
far worse than dying
broken and alone....
is that you may one day
love me, and if I gave you
what remains of my heart
and ruptured soul on that
day, it would break you.

You've never asked what my
name means, probably because
yours is so obvious that I
haven't had to ask what
yours does, or where it comes from.

You are a Fox, English in origin
linguisticly, with a very illustrious
line, stretching back to the days
before the Norman conquest.

My name, from the Low German,
is Hemlock, and that is exactly
what I am. A beautiful tree in my
opinion, but poisonous to all.

They gave of me to Socrates
as a death sentence, and on
the deeply flawed romantic
in me, the sweet irony isn't lost.

Thus we come to the truth of
my fears, deep fears, deeper by
far than the usual ones that
accompany thoughts of you.

You, in your ignorance are
intrigued by me, as you said.
Should you eat of my heart,
and be poisoned, body and
soul, the last parts of me that
believe in all that you are,
would die with you.