Upon reflection I suppose this is
the inevitable conclusion of
the circumstances that first brought us to
this point in our sad, intertwining, lives.

I am compelled to ask you, to question
your motives, to query your reasoning,
and to try to understand how you might
have considered you would ever succeed?

Tell me, if you would, before we end this,
just how you came to the conclusion that
anything you do could ever be more
than the most pitiful inconvenience?

You sit there grunting, sweat filling your eyes,
that look of panic growing on your face
And yet, nothing. Nothing is your answer.
Ah, yes, perhaps I should remove the gag.