why do you act like hamlet,
all depressed and grieved,
for your own heart shuts me out,
and it's you who's deceived?

when did you think like othello,
murderous and violent,
irrational with decisions,
making me suffer with guilty silence?

how did you turn into macbeth,
from the silky words that grace your lips,
to the venomous fangs you bit back at me,
stinging like burning, sharp whips?

because i thought you were romeo,
with your adventurous soul and romantic antics.
now you've faded away,
with all your heroic tactics.

wherefore art thou, romeo?

don't call me juliet,
if i'm just another rosaline.