|
In the dark |
|
waiting with loathing |
|
and dread |
|
she is coming |
|
alerted by my self-pity |
|
she is a child |
|
frozen in her pain |
|
I can never be free of her |
|
and never she of me |
|
sometimes she comes |
|
when I'm trying to know love |
|
she torments me |
|
and tells me |
|
I am not worthy |
|
she is almost here |
|
I can't bear to be |
|
used by her to take revenge |
|
on all who come too near |
|
for fear that they might |
|
make me whole |
|
and her fade away |
|
In my youth |
|
she and I were one |
|
through ridicule and hate |
|
I was torn from myself |
|
She is here |
|
Childhood's wretched slave |
|
can never be led to freedom |
|
Is hatred's hungry child |
|
asleep within all our reason? |
