It seems the right thing to do.

An imposing breeze grips 
a candle flame tightly by the throat 
and puts out the light...

But nothing can douse your presence,
my dear.

Alone in this darkness
I could be your slave if you want.
I could be your possession
strapped to your tree 
and take all the pain 
you have to give
and return it back to you, 
transformed raw,
like leather burn abrasions.

There's a cut wound split 
between us 
that can't keep us apart.
Ooh your sensual touch of hurt
makes me feel like I'm alive.
And ooh, the irony, my dear,
sticks out 
like a sore thumb,

two seconds to bliss...

We are one, yes.
(we are one)

Drama queen bitch,
all wrapped up 
in yourself
and so blinded by the dark.
Psychomatic and so dramatic,
what a blunt c*nt you are...

All the while
I hold you in my hands, 
like a voodoo doll chained
to your soul 
like twin quantum particles 
that can't be separated
by even the length of the universe.

And I stick prick hard
as I scream
knowing no matter how hard 
you pray,
you're still on pins and needles 
heedless to the fact 

that it's really just me
doing it to myself.

Ooh the irony, my dear,
two seconds to bliss...

We are one, yes.
(we are one)