because of you, i almost died
because of you, i never cried
because of you, i forbade joy
because of you, love seemed a ploy-
because you did those things to me,
and none could hear my silent plea
i put my heart high on a shelf,
and was a stranger to myself
'til self-deceit had worn so thin,
i saw the skull beneath the skin-
no longer can i run and hide;
because of you i almost died.
Give sorrow words: the grief that does not speak
Whispers the o'er-fraught heart and bids it break.
-William Shakespeare, Macbeth, Act IV, Sc. III