In here, all that is useless is burned up. Each day I am confronted
with my own hypocrisy, my own deceptions. Each day ruined by
my own ignorance, my own prejudices. I cower, I make excuses.
I forget my complicity.
You would not have seen it.
You would have to
have read my mind.
Why must there be the other?
Why do I simply wait?
Forty years in the underground have made me a hodge-podge.
It is unbearable, but it is fair.
If you love fairness, it is fair.
If you love desire, it is fair.
I must know this pain.
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