If you let down your guard and show yourself for what you are, the days as you know them will come to an end. If you stand in your back garden and undress with the rain splashing against your face, then the hour has come for you to show your true hand. When I’m not working, I’m writing, and when I’m not writing, I’m dancing like Ian Curtis in the spare bedroom with the curtains drawn. Downing several energy drinks, I lock myself away and snap my head back and forth while thrashing my arms around for the best part of the afternoon making no attempt to hide my strange ways. It helps me to stay sharp, you see. When you come around, I give you my biographies on Moors Murderer Ian Brady and tell you to make notes on what you find. He was a bad man, yet he knew the other side, and the other side is important. You need to know this because you’re too pure- you need to see what it’s like to suffer- to breathe in the darkness. If you don’t, then your beauty will be for nothing. Be clear. Be vigilant. But don’t behave. Know you can break hearts but know that such a gift is secondary- it’s breaking minds that matters most. When I don’t want to fuck you, you complain. You say it’s because I’m not interested anymore. You insinuate I’m seeing someone behind your back, hence my lack of interest in making a move, but my reasons run far deeper. The flesh is a gift, but intimacy can’t be measured by mere pleasure alone. To know someone is to sit with them looking in from the edge of the abyss. It’s to open up those doors you wish remained shut. Go ahead and pick at those scabs, girl, and tell me what you see inside.