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Speak not to me of trial, for I have climbed the steepest mountains.
Speak not to me of loss, for I have seen every penniless fountain.
Speak not to me of solitude, for I have never forgotten the feeling.
Speak not to me of hate, for I am always crucified revealing.

Speak not to me of waste, for my reflection finds no better example.
Speak not to me of misfortune, in a life impossibly ample.
Speak not to me of love, for it is both all & nothing in my hands.
Speak not to me of joy, for it was robbed from me with your lands.

Speak not to me of saviors, for you long decided I never was one.
Speak not to me of gratitude, for it is a tool mastered by none.
Speak not to me of friendship, as it is the fading flame I forged.
Speak not to me of good, for all I had is still submerged.

Speak not to me of hope, because it abandoned me long ago.
Speak not to me of worth, for only in sin does it show.
Speak not to me of shadow, for it is the only security I’ve known.
Speak not to me of sunrise, for I loathe a promise unshown.

I am the serpent they stone, the beast they bred…
Only upon my grave did they ever speak ill of the dead.