His heart skipped, his body tripped-his blood dripped, and the pain did fit. Fit perfectly into the jagged puzzle of a love long muzzled.

He could see his hand grasping his blade, some 10 feet away. Feel the surge in his severed veins as his body did quake. He was concious of this, but still only-the love he held for the holy. Lords, bereft of all meaning, had long left his seeming-now the only one sacrosanct in his meaning was the lady who kept him beating. Yes his only divine skirted across his mind as the tolls did chime to end his hated time.

His soul was barren as reminiscions wound through his warren of mental variance and singlular declarance. Declarance found appearance in the form of full clearance of all experience except what found dearness in a mind beckoned by dimness.

He had failed. But He Would Not Let Love Kill Her. He Would Not Go Quiet, He Stood To Fight It. Fight The Abyss's Deep Pits, Fight For An End Without Twisting Her Defence-Without Mincing Her Conscience In A Vice Of Passions Rent...but the horse came so pale and he died with time, hating his crime. Hating the one who had used love divine to find reason to rhyme with a blade's hatefull chime. Hating he who had tricked beauty's mind into feeling him fine in the land where Death Dines. He Hated Himself For Him Assailing Love's Trail.

He wailed upon the gates of a hell all his own, a hell of a lone that could chill to the bone. He beat upon the bastion with a question eluding ingestion. He knew he was dead as cruel pain killed sound in his head and cruel anguish did distend to beat him to no end. He had brought their hearts to crushing break, and he tried to commune through a messenger's fate. Tried to give her sense in his decimative wake.
Hoped She Would Find Joyful End In Spite His Hedonism's Binge.