A short look back — or not — on how and when I might have become infected with HIV in the form of a Shakespearean sonnet, complete with iambic pentameter. (If you haven't read Will S's blog, you should try to find it here, here or here). While I am pretty sure they didn't have the interweb back then, I am equally certain that the Bard is splattered all over the virtual world, perhaps even wandering around Second Life looking for characters.
Enough with the prologue, bring on the sonnet!
Whither My AIDS Indeed!
Shall I attempt to pin the blame on you?
You gave me STIs and God knows what
My throat got sore, my penis burned, and ew!
What are those warts a-growing in my butt?
Or maybe it was you, the guy I met
While walking home at 3, and through the snow
I clearly said I didn't want to get
Fucked condomless, but you did not hear "No."
I know there were some other times as well
A few, a handful — all that I regret
But on these things I know I cannot dwell
As angry, sad or spiteful I might get.
The answer is as plain as plain can be:
My energy is better spent on me.