Monologue- Lady Macbeth, blood hands.
Yet here's a spot,
A stain on my conscience as much as on yours,
Just as his blood did stain the sheets.
His blood, his blood,
What have we done, you and I?
Ambition is a cruel mistress,
Riding and clawing her way to the top,
Laying roots that burrow down into the soul,
To squeeze, to squeeze
What relief can be found but in doing her bidding?
But in carrying her with us through each morbid step?
When he arrived, proud majesty on a dignified roan,
Did he know his fate?
Did his fatherly brown eyes peer into my cold ones,
Orbs to the soul,
To see Ambition's serpent hidden
In the flowering innocence of womanhood?
And yet, my love, you were the stronger one.
Ambition is embedded deeper in you then she ever was in me,
For when I lay the daggers by his bed,
And could not do.
But you came back, the job was not yet done.
Ambition grabbed the reigns and
Saw the blood on the sheets
Dripping from his slack skin to pool under his eyes
I scooped it up, like a haggard beggar women who,
Seeing a glinting gold piece, hugs it close.
A hand slathered it on the sleeping servants
Washing them in the holy water of Ambition,
And when 'twas done,
I knew not who had done it, me or her.
And so, my lord, let us retire
A motley threesome we make,
You, me and her,
Comical in the fact that we are not.