This cradle for my sorrows in wind rocks,
No hand catches her, no eyes would want to see;
The Abomination that sleeps fitfully within,
Oh, but that is the least of my problems.
The worm has lost its baby fat, and wanders
It’s lifelong trails, disjointed and well-known.
There is pain, senile blindness and self-hate:
The last horizon I will venture to tread on.
I stood on the edge of the world and leaped,
To my death, in a sea of fire, is there no end,
Of my sufferings? The haunting disappointment
Accompanies me through the freezing night.
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