Thou know neither love nor lust
than what thou know of me.
And I pity thee,
for I hath displayed such an untruthful self
that I hath deceived and hoaxed thou into loving me.
What a poor, ill-willed man thee must be
to fall victim to such lies.
I dare tell thee I am beautiful
(when I am not)
and if I tell it so convincingly,
thou will believe me.
And if I pricked my small, pale finger,
and my crimson blood fell on thy lap,
thou would croon over my body
feeling guilty for a fault that was not his.
And so I tell thee,
take pride in thou's own thoughts,
or live controlled by me.