sonnet

How can I browbeat thee? Let me count the ways.
I shall haunt thee to the depth and breadth and height
That time can reach, when feeling all uptight
With endless seething and this ripped-up face.
I indict thee to the level of everyday’s
Most baddest seed, by dun and mandible.
I curse thee freely, as men curse my plight;
I reproach thee purely, as in a burning haze.
I rage at thee with a passion put to use
In my cold griefs, and as a craven wraith.
I hex thee with a love I seemed to lose
In all my bloodied faints, – I accuse thee with the breaths,
Barbs, fears, of all my strife! – and, O erstwhile muse,
I shall but guilt-trip thee better after ________.

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