| The Purge (4/04) I make of my words a lash to beat me from you. Cauterize the wound, burn the sickness out. Regret, I will not have at your hand because I could not love you as you have endeavored to love me. I will not be your ghost that stands between you and your life, a shade to kept at bay by incense and prayers. You have named me many things and not understood a one. |