Mithridates On His Deathbed

Back in town. “Some Things Stick With You” continues tomorrow! In the meantime, here’s a sonnet about self-poisoning.

My father wore armor to save himself,

Great plates of iron crafted to withstand

The evils of the world. I chose top-shelf

Poisons instead, drafts to numb the tongue and

Turn the stomach, calcify the body

And still the mind. They were for me. I took

The poison and fled where no one could see.

Seven years alone in the woods, I shook,

Sweat, screamed, bled, vomited, but I survived.

The evils that took my father would not

Have me. Where his strength failed, I would not die,

Immortal even as all else rotted.

But in this final hour, I am not strong.

I outlived what I loved; they are all gone.