>Or I'm just another whore. And maybe, just maybe you're a proper locked door. Stockholm Syndrome all aside, I'll keep that sympathetic whore, Locked inside, Forgetting, How long, I left her, Bidden, and Bound, I had taken the Acid, and attempted, to tone it down, Down to the base-ment, to neutralize her frown, Can I trust what she might be? The damnation, of my pure self? A human, a demon? A damned shape-shifting elf?!? Words demanded, 'Let me go, let me go!' Asking me, For desires, I already know. Her darkest Hell, with her whimpering mask, She has the gall to tell, She has the gall to ask, All she held dear, or it might be the only thing, I allowed her to hear, Was my lovely confession, She was the only one I cared for, that was my concession. And it all started out, with a single line, I asked her a lonesome question, and she said, it would be fine, "Would it be okay, if, maybe, just... Can I write you, every day?"