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Wed, Jun. 16th, 2004, 10:49 pm
ayte: Assuming

Time tempts me.
Every beat, every breath, every whimpered moment
that I lie in the darkness fills me with more emptiness
than the beat, than the breath, than the moment before.

Sweet little girl inside, sweet breaking point, sweet weakness.
The darkness I knew before, the soldier standing guard,
the evil I once blamed for me, my sadness,
that evil isn't beating me, that evil isn't small.
That evil isn't even evil at all.

This beater, this hater, this woman is me.

I cannot love the weakness
I cannot love the shame
I cannot love the needy
Or the object of my blame.

I spurn the weakness, hate the fear
I neglect the place that burns

I am the unmaker
The hand behind the whip
I am the unmaker
The thought controlling bitch
I am the unmaker
I neglect, I tear, I hate
I am the unmaker
This woman is me