Good evening, dear I'm writing at this hour, knowing of course you will not wish to see me, and still with how abruptly fate has slammed our door, I hope this once you will permit this. The parting thoughts of lovers, we well know, are often quite unsuitable for missives (few can deny that lovers we both were) or is it true, you will not now admit it? As faithful servant, standing for a mirror in whose shy presence you once monologued, permit me a few words, I'm sure you’ll listen, you are a woman of such polished faults. Oh please don’t smirk, I know you think me foolish (and are half pleased at having sent me mad), I stood beside as you would choose a savior then shoot him for a spy and leave him dead. All played along though I suspect those tantrums were mere pretense that you are human too. while some were fooled I saw it in your nature and knew how absolute corruption was, yet let me tell you impotence and anger corrupts no less, the more I've been around by virtue climbing up to heaven's kingdom, to be self-made I thought should make one proud. But now I think what if the polished tables, the servants, and escutcheons only right, if one is born to them, and then is able to not be stained, already born corrupt. To have slaves whipped without a hint of passion, to stand above the crowd and not observe. Good breeding is the true meaning of beauty; a context that can never be removed. How little the new-rich make out of Mammon, how artless their attempts to count the costs, how little dignity I find in living, how much I wish I could be at your door. And thus farewell! with luck you’ll even blame me as though I forced you to sit by and watch. You will of course not read it in the papers how some young man had paid the final cost. One day perhaps accompanied by suitors the better folk may whisper at your back. An introduction follows awkward silence and you can know my memory has sparked. And if there is a conscience still inside you you’ll drop this letter crumpled to the floor, a coach will rush by narrow unpaved alleys towards my house, as to avert the worst. You stand beside a broken door, a neighbor has heard the shot, policeman have been called, bystanders slowly shake their heads in anger, you’ll cry for me, and I'm Forever yours…
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Oh wow. I really like the format of the epistolary poem.
Love the fever dream ending. Cheers.