As I unlove



Men, I ought to have loved
from birth and beyond
have made me sense laser beams

 Sharp and sudden threads of silk
pulled at random, over the senses

 The weaver and his machine
and the arrow marks of pain

 and then,
when the suddenness leaves,
choking my throat,
boredom
inevitable indifference,
casual cruelty,
and more, a vomit of scorn
defines the later me.

 As I unlove

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