I tremble at my own cold fingers as they scrape my scalp.
My hair is soft and coarse and lifted;
The curls have chopped-off ends.
Rape! and Chaos!
These things loom over me like the water that masses above the skies.
Why shouldn’t it be true?
Stranger things are believed by all.
When the icy fingers trace my breasts I shudder.
In fear?
But I am sure there is evil in every place.
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