Her Internal Turmoil

A poem written as the prophetess Cassandra might have told it

Oh how I wish
That I was still blind
Then maybe I wouldn’t need
To lose my mind!
I blame Apollo
For this terrible curse
To share secrets with fate
To know the truth first
I cry:
“The end is near!”
But I can do nothing,
I fear.
My shouts, my pleas,
They’re all in vain
Nobody cares
That we shall be slain!
O Mercy! Athena!
It’s too late for Troy
Or Agamemnon and I!
Clytemnestra's out to destroy!
Why bother? Who cares?
Better my sanity's diminished
Perhaps now I can accept
That this tragedy is finished.