I Love Willbilly Shakira’s Plays

im incapable of drawing hamlet without red lighting

me: i guess

hamlet: [is left on an empty stage] now i am alone

horatio loved.

his prince, his lord, his love.

that tired brow that aged him so,

those shoulders slumped

with the burden of revenge

his beautiful mind,

run ragged with what-ifs,

draped in night, mourning

for the father he lost, mourning

for the mother that shifted

and transformed into new.

horatio knew how to ache.

he felt at home when he served

as his lord’s tortured admirer

whose ache only grew

and it overflowed into agony

when the sweet prince slept.

horatio lived.

tell my story, the prince had said

horatio did,

though he was more an antique roman

than a dane.

or so he thought.

but his prince, his lord, his love

bade him live.

horatio loved his lord

and the sweet prince slept at last

the ruined, ragged mind at peace

having at last achieved

that agonizing vengeance.

for his prince, horatio lived,

Hamlet as a D&D paladin.