I cannot seem to forgive myself for what Macbeth has done; for what I convinced Macbeth to do. We have been living in fear ever since the day he did the deed, I loathe that day. We have since moved to Dunsinane Castle, thinking that we would feel safer, happier; but I am still not content.
I still see the blood upon my hands. King Duncan's blood. The blood has stained my hands...it has left a permanent mark. A permanent reminder of my past ghosts. I guess ghosts can never really stay in the past.
I can smell the blood, how I hate the smell. I try to, but I cannot rinse it; I cannot get rid of it...
I have come to terms with the fact that there is no reason for me to be here anymore. Everyday I live, but everyday I realize how pointless my life is. I am just here for me to realize what harm we have done, and regret it. I thought murdering King Duncan would be good, would bring Macbeth and I wealth and happiness, but it is doing the exact opposite.
I'm ending this post with a picture of what I wish my life could be like. What I was wishing would have happened when this whole thing started.
Right now, I just wish I was dead.
No comments:
Post a Comment