I grew up in this place,
This place of fear...

I look back at us,
Healthy...

I know I had a part to play,
I know I caused some pain...

When I was just a little girl,
my mother used to tell me these crazy things...

Thats it,
thats all...

Dead is the winter,
Cold is the air...

There is no limit to my pain
I write...

I know, you can only
be pretty on the outside...

Imagine something bad,
imagine something mortifying, something gruesome...

This is Fred,
He sleeps on my bed...

How many people had to stop thier mothers killing...
How many people have been sexually abused by thier...

Let the object of objection
Become but a dream...