kyrasantae | Impromptu Hamlet

To drink, or not to drink, that is the question:
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The fuzziness and dull aches of the morning after
Than to awaken, too late - to spend the morning
Having slept through it: to drink, to think
No more; to think is to subject myself
To the pains of the thousand natural worries
That my mind is heir to; such a situation
I devoutly wish to avoid. To drink, to sleep,
To sleep, perchance to dream: Aye, there's the rub,
For in that druggèd slumber, those dreams that come
Lack in form and the desolate image of death
That gives me pause. Is this what I must face
If I do drink and sleep without my pleasure:
For who will bear the whips and scorns of my fantasies,
The oppressor's abuse, the proud man violated,
The patient pain of his torturer's rakes,
When he himself might his quietus make
With a bare bodkin? Who else but myself
Would wish to see these images of man,
Tortured beyond death, when there can be
So many other visions that could be conjured
In our sleep? This does puzzle my will,
And makes me prefer to blind my eyes to this ill
Than to allow its image to burn into my eyelids.
Thus my conscience makes a coward of me
And thus I must resist the compulsion
To bring these dreams into reality,
And in this regard turn their wickedness awry
And lose the name of these actions.