Hamlet Soliloquy Impersonation

Hamlet Soliloquy

      Love, Love is the most heinous of things. It infects thy soul and rots thy heart ‘til its barer is left riddled with pain. It is a poison on humanity, a knowledge for which I would choose ignorance, a fruit which has fallen rotten to deceit and now decays with betrayal. It is a complication on the simplest of lives and though with it I once felt amity, at this point I stand, I dare not juggle with such a seed tampered with by the blackest devil. What I once felt for that girl is now diminished for I fear the honesty and innocence is tainted in her too. His poison likely flows through her veins as despise doth mine. Her love for me equal to all other, fathoms a quench for more than companionship and devotion, but rather favours a love more intricately set to a cunning disposition. Love bares no part of me now. My every thought is filled with disgust that it now burdens my compassion. Betrayal is too rife for one to consider both the love for and that of another.
      A victim of deceit from ones own mother, she is the reason for my turmoil. A love between brothers betrayed for greed, a love for a husband abandoned without thought before breath. And love for a son, disregarded for selfish needs. I will take no lover for wish to avoid second pain. No one should be convinced of such falseness, of such a facade. And those who act within such a cruel theatre will be cast from blessing as she is cast from mine. For that deed, that dark incestuous deed that doth set my skin a quiver each night, that damns her through sin and that drags her from me, clumps the blood that we share in my veins like infection. The same infection that drills to the core of my sanity and crumbles the mind. For every part of me that lives is repulsed by her treachery, though with every breath I am drawn to her fuelled by ardour and covet.
      He does not love, no! Does not possess the qualities to love. Born a poisoned man, born to embitter the world, to spread pain...