Tormented avenger,
we would see you imitate
mithradites, unerring in
such a wanton diligence;

and yet, can there be any hope?
any hope for hope?
when I break the putrid silence
imposed on yourself by yourself?

such hope is all that really matters
to you,
to me.

hope that the poison will not kill you,
but by some means unknown, immortalize you.
Such is the silence
imposed on the insane by the tormented.
That is you.

You see the last sliver of light fade,
abruptly returning you to the darkness
you feared,
the darkness you wished to avoid;
the darkness inherent in the poison
you take.

the poison you give.

the poison I tasted
but did not want to drink…

and drink anyway.

I shall meet you there,
we shall join hands again.

We shall, inevitably, die.

There is no immunity from this poison.