Tepid

"a trickle, please," I cry, the prisoner of my own devices the deceiver of my own malice the contemptible of my own contrition the comforter I made my own but you do not know it at least not yet I made my own but I do not own it at least not yet I kept a gown in case the mother left her frown but I am feminine so a trickle will be made by blood or tears it will be made