• I will, of course, blame you.
    You are the prisoner after all.
    The infector of my mind,
    The thief of my soul,
    Molester of my body,
    And carrier of my heart.

    I will, of course, hate you.
    You are my prison.
    I cannot turn from you,
    Forget your presence,
    Brush off your touch,
    Nor do I wish too.

    This is my note of love.
    I cannot tell you.
    You have numbed my tongue
    As surely as you have rendered my mind:
    Senseless,
    And complacent when you are around.