Sonnet CXLV → Transbliterated (018)

Shakespeare

Those lips that Love’s own hand did make,
Breathed forth the sound that said ‘I hate’,
To me that languish’d for her sake:
But when she saw my woeful state,
Straight in her heart did mercy come,
Chiding that tongue that ever sweet
Was us’d in giving gentle doom;
And taught it thus anew to greet;
‘I hate’ she alter’d with an end,
That followed it as gentle day,
Doth follow night, who like a fiend
From heaven to hell is flown away.
    ‘I hate’, from hate away she threw,
    And sav’d my life, saying ‘not you’.

My hands move my lips
	To breath the sound
		"I hate you"

I stagger

	Seeing my lamentable state
I box my heart in compassion
	And wait
		Until I can
			Reclaim its tongue for a sweeter time
				When at least the suffering will be speakable
			Learn again to greet the sunrise
				With "Good morning"
				And not "Fuck you"


	But the night?
How the demons fly from hell

Hatred zooms at the speed of sound
	To save my life from
		"It's not you.  It's me."