I’ll give you the grand tour. There’s no reason for you to look in, but you do, so I’ll show you. It’s not really that pretty here now, but it will be. When the sun sets on the glass pains and the white bed no longer has bloodstains. I blow directly onto the clear glass window, write my secrets under the heat of my breath and leave them there for the pedestrians to read. They’ll blow upon my secrets and discover it says, “Help Me.” Just a little child in her own psyche trying to be set free. You see, I build the walls here a little late, the demons are already inside, and now they can’t escape. I write their secrets in the glass, and then I write them in my arm. I scrape and I scratch. And as I come face to face with each of them, they must perish in order for me to grow. Hidden in the gloomy little cracks of this glass house, they’ll pass away the day I figure all this shit out. Each one gets buried in the closet, in tiny little graves, marked only by crosses. If you take notice, Saints adorn the walls. But they’re really not here for decoration at all. I save those pieces from old family gifts, and I bring them out later if they fit in the mix. Don’t you know… No one’s really been inside here.
And soon you’ll learn, that I only invited you because I didn’t think you would show. But you grab my hand, and stand in the window with me. Taking blame for my demons and all that they could be. It’s not much, but all of it’s yours. Take caution on every floor, and always remember that the choice was yours.