The Fall of Ophelia

Thou did say that thou loved me once, my lord,
And sent me tokens of devotion pure.
The next thou scoffed and claimed that I had whored,
A slander from thy lips I shant endure.
A harlot I am not, and thou knew this
Before the edges of thy mind were frayed.
Thy mother begged thou share my nuptial kiss,
But thou turned cruel, and she and I dismayed.
Better or worse - thou knows I think no thing,
For all my thoughts are planted there by men.
This double-dealing caused me suffering,
But to refuse? I'd not see day again.
"Thy kind makes monsters," once accused thy voice.
Well unlike us thy kind does have the choice.

O Hamlet, I've just seen my father slain,
His heart torn through with thy so noble sword.
No hope for me in life shall e'er remain -
They think thee mad? I'll show thee mad, my lord.
Rosemary to remember all thy sins,
And pansies for the thoughts I was denied.
I'd send violets to break thy heart within,
But they withered the night my father died.
I will admit, I loved thee once as well
When I had not yet seen what thee became.
A nunnery? Instead I am in hell!
And help thy soul if I should hear thy name.
That I despise is not the strangest thing.
Thou murders and abuses - like the King!

I fall 'neath where the willow gently weeps,
My daisies floating o'er me like a crown.
Through my poor soul the deathly waters creep
And drag me like a stone forever down.
I pray thou sees that thou did kill me too,
The same way that thou killed my father dear.
After all the plights thou has forced me through,
There is no pain for me to linger here.
So who is the poorer now? Thou still lives
To bear the slings of thy atrocities -
The sorts of which no hellish god forgives,
And, even less, avenging Laertes.
Sword and my grave shall not let thee forget.
Woe is thee? No, lord - but it will be yet.