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She has her quiet times and her rages.
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The windows are shuttered lest she throw herself out.
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We have no furniture,
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as she can make a weapon out of anything.
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I take her for a turn upon the roof each day,
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securely held, as she's taken to thinking she can fly.
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My own demon.
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Jane.
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Forgive me. I'm worthless. How could I?
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Jane.
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No tears.
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Why don't you cry?