Antoinette Cosway / Bertha Mason

I'm certain I have the kind of hysteria they used to lock women up for hair uncombed uncouth the moons under my eyes purpling like the shade of gowns I wasn't permitted to wear am I pretty yet am I pretty yet am I pretty yet let me perish in arms that won't call me beautiful at least there's still arms to catch me you don't need to know my suffering you don't get to know my suffering I'm trapped up here but my hair is long and unkempt i hold my strength in its strands while yours lies in pieces on the ground I'll sweep it up you'll never see the painstaking ways that I'll gather each piece and try to reattach it I'm always sorry to the brink of insanity only I would keep running back to you see my veins protruding my yellow eyes bulging see you send me away out of sight while I wonder where those cries are coming from and why my voice is so hoarse