Do you think she’ll witness my downfall When she goes to hell? Do you think she’ll feel the anguish of empathy? Do you think she’ll find a way to introspect Instead of projecting? That would cause her suffering. I won’t be grouped in with fools Who discharge ressentiment With dreams of those who’ve wronged them Suffering more than they have... But I know it must discharge somewhere. What constrains me? The stunted superego Suffocates the id Holds it down and kicks it; A child beaten Tells itself It doesn’t want to hurt its family Until the day it’s realized That it can’t. And then, its spirit broken Lays dormant, a pressure cooker Tells itself it doesn’t want to rise To cope with having fallen. It stays silent and still long after left Alone. Retreated so far into itself That now it fails to recognize The threat is gone – The abuse goes on Long beyond it’s ended. She told me she loved my poetry, That I inspired her to write About her father. I should have seen it coming then It was no different from before - I let myself be used again I have no excuse.