A room of one's own
I am murdering the music we thought so special,
that blazed between us, over and over.
I am taking the boats of our beds
and swamping them, letting them cough on the sea
and choke on it and go down into nothing.
Now I am alone with the dead,
flying off bridges,
hurling myself like a beer can into the wastebasket.
I am flying like a single red rose,
leaving a jet stream
and yet I feel nothing,…
In the first part there is a scene of a man beating horse reminded me of George Orwell, said he once saw a little boy beating horse by whip and later he wrote, “It struck me that if only such animals became aware of their strength we should have no power over them, and that men use animals in much the same way as the rich use the worker.”