88 To Constance
I should not let my darkness hunt me with black hounds.
You should not put your fingers under cutting knives.
I should not lie inside my shadow on the ground.
You should not tie yourself in jungles at the night.
I should not spill my sky of eyes from whipping clouds.
You should not give your breast if teeth would bite your hand.
I should not bring a thief through doors of hips and mouth.
You should not hunt yourself, when hounds would hunt your back.
I should not wind my clock when time is gone in circles.
You should not keep your broken dishes on the floor.
I should not burn my leaves in ovens of cold autumn.
You should not call yourself a victim anymore.