I have thee not, and yet I see thee still.
And Darjeeling which is supposed to be like a light
is bitter and cruel in my mouth.
And I feel betrayed by my body's own humble
and I seem not to grow more wise with time.
I no longer have any quarrel with Arachne.
She's not the only dumb cunt here.
I thought I held something in my hand,
I thought I owned
and never do.
Arachne: I am tired.
Grief is a long country mile.
Arachne, I am insufferably bad at
I forgive you, trapped behind a canvas,
looking like a lover (there's your trouble.)
Can you forgive me?
I never meant it