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I am the stifled, the idle,


the eye of the needle,


the day and the tea and the


toy and the candle,


the girl with the snarl and the


proof of the pudding,


the waif and the stray and the


silent observer,


the midnight disturber,


the judge and the prisoner.



Follow me only. I am the lonely.



Come to me quickly. I am the lovely.


I am the mystery. The real one and only.


The light of your strife,


the blight and the brightness.


The night dark and jagged,


the livid and bloody.


The entrails and nightmare,


the goddess with snake hair.



Turn away? I am still there. At the back of your mind.



I am the don't care,


the watery wine,


the nymph and the joker,


your sister, my lover,


Joan of Arc in the dark,


the fountain of mother,


disturber of slumber,


barely remembered.



I am your daughter. You will burn on my altar.



It will all turn to dust.


The chintz and the lace


And the smile on your face and the


trace of your guilt,


and the tears for spilt milk.



I am smoother than silk.



The flowers that wilted,


the petals which shrivelled,


the virus infection.


The numbing injection.


The blink of oblivion,


the stink of the cistern.


The heart of the lettuce.


The creative obsession.


Pre-sensual tension, too wicked


to mention.



Listen hard. I will whisper.



I am the liar,


 the recluse and the wife,


the teller of fibs,


the lurex and tinsel,


the elusive abrasive,


the overt unobtrusive.


The fate and the faith and the


noose and the




I am the way and the truth and the





Follow me?




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