This kind of dead, lives.
It lives with the humiliation
you insist upon.
But now, you have to deal with me.
You have to acknowledge
that I Loved You.
And this will not be easy.
For you fantasized that I
Had been utterly defeated -
Or was low born as other men,
Too caught up in my groin, perhaps...
But weak, nevertheless.
Or that my shallows had no depth.
You were convinced -
That servitude was a symptom
Of my puppet disease.
But now...
I leave you at the mark upon my Soul.
The very envy of Cain.
Because I can die for something.
But yet remain.

You can only **** me once.

But I can leave you
deeper..,