Shakespeare Case

Will this guilt ever subside? Will my heart and conscience ever be cleansed? For I remember I was once a woman of innocence, of purity. I wore a heart so white. What have I done in this world? What have I achieved? These moments of power are nothing compared to the feeling of a clean soul. The lust to have power was an overwhelming one , and it consumed me. It took over my thoughts and made me think differently. The want for power ran through my veins like a rapid venom. I was overwhelmed by the witches' prophecies and my yearning for my great love, my dearest Macbeth, to become king. They opened my hidden desires and forced me - yes they plagued me with my own greed. If it was not for me, Macbeth would not have acted. If it was not for I, would any of this have ever happened? My thoughts are overshadowed and grieved by my guilt. I need to be released from this world of tragedy that was caused by Macbeth and my own foolish self.

happy, it was a vain idea of wanting what appeared to be for the best, my dream was for him to reach his full potential. When he spoke such negativity about failing I was the one who reassured him that we could not fail. Oh my heart, remember how I said 'screw your courage to the sticking place; we will not fail?', so why do I feel as though we have? Deep down I did it all because of your cowardice, my love; as your wife, twas my duty to push you towards the best.

Next was the growing suspicion of our friend Banquo, we couldn't stand such a risk. We had no other choice but to end his life. For now I see each wrong had brought us to another. It twas like an organised row control. I'm lost within my own thoughts and selfish aspirations. I'm a cause lost within these sinful thoughts. The guilt of a king's death is unbearable. The feelings are excruciating, they have sunk into my body; deep within my soul, my heart. I am a cold hearted individual, yet no amount of purging t will end this agony within me for as long as I live.

The images are engraved in mind, they linger each waking moment of my days. The image portrayed tis that bloody dagger and lifeless corpse. The corpse of him who once was my friend, instead now my victim. Such feelings of guilt are forever twisting like a constricted snake in my stomach. These images become reality when the ghosts are present. Or tis this just my insanity? For all I know he haunts me througmurky. Fie, my lord, fie, a soldier, and afeard? Who would have thought that the old man could have so much blood in him? The smell of the blood is still; all the perfumes of Arabia will not sweeten these stained hands of mine.

I have lost all control over my body, my thoughts and my actions. I deserve all the consequences in the world for the wrong I have done. I shall forever hang my head for my actions, and no longer rejoice that I do not han a woman of guilt. My false face hides what my false heart does know,