I've been watching him for my entire life. I hate the air he breathes, his foolish decrees, his words so contrived. And I hate the way the townspeople gather outside, they hang on every breath, cling to his chest, home to his heart full of pride. The oracle told him to beware the ides and I'd be lying if I said I wasn't wishing for untimely death or demise. Or am I just wishing I could be like you? That the people would see me too as a poet, and not just the muse.

Oh it's not true, I don't wish harm upon you. From birth we've been like brothers, of different mothers, within the spirit of the same womb. May the gods strike me down if I forsake you, frater meus, you're beautifully made and to you I'm forever grateful. I'll never forget that you showed me to make art and I know the love you showed me came from a pure and noble heart. I love you and if you want I'll call you king. But why do I lie awake each night thinking, instead of you, it should be me?

Something wicked this way comes and as I set to face it I'm unsure should I embrace it, should I run? What motivates me - hatred or is it love? What's more wrong - that I too wish to be great or my mother wished she'd had a son? And even if I can't be the one, maybe I could at least help make way for him until the day that he comes. Maybe my name could also be known - that I helped return good to the people and restored greatness to Rome.

My name is Brutus and my name means heavy, so with a heavy heart I'll guide this dagger into the heart of my enemy. My whole life you were a teacher and friend to me. Please know my actions are not motivated only by envy. I too have a destiny, this death will be art. The people will speak of this day from near and afar. This event will be history and I'll be great too. I don't want what you have, I wanna be you.

I always knew I could be the one though I feel the endless pain of being and I am scorched by the sun. Of humble origins and born of the cursed sex my name is Brutus but the people will call me Rex