Yes, my hands are hardened and black
callused from lonely hours in the sun and the work I did in my former days
Though your eyes will not venture to even dignify my presence now
My hands remind me of the wife I now hate,
she whom I cherished and so I became a slave
I toiled laboriously to provide for our six children
Three were miscarried, the other three have grown to disown me
I try and block them from my memories
And yet, the shadow I try to deny, bears flesh
when gentle babe are present
We embrace in fatherly touch, breathing cryogenic life into memories I froze,
chose to not kill and untruthfully "deal with" later
Monk battling languages in France, foolhardy youth,
eventually I came to you in America
You became mine ... AND now ... I hate you for it
The bitter wine I drank from your cup led me
to liquor of a different taste, sweet for a time
You'll never read this, so I have no shame
in admitting that you are the last woman I will be with,
the last one I'll pour the depths of my heart into
You have stolen from me
Therefore my course is to rob humanity of my affection
I will keep it all for myself now because of spite
Perhaps I will die the bitter man that I am now soon
If that be my fate, I die fairly judged
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