Beyond the Dungeon Door

O Catie love ye do ask too much of a poor scribbling poet to ask him to open the doors so ye can view the terrible thing he knows himself to be. All men and mayhap women too know what terrors hide behind our own locked doors. Yet still ye ask, so very well, I'll unbolt the door to allow ye to peer with- in if ye are so inclined. I for one have seen inside and know what a putrid slice of humanity I am and how I revel in the darkness when drunkeness or pain or even simply living allows those fetid shutters to slip and let me see. I speak not of evil deeds I have performed nor of any punishment I fear for these foul perfomances, but of the satisfaction felt when the girl who wouldna dance with me is paralysed in a car wreck or when my old boss hangs himself after going bankrupt. These thoughts and others like them and worse I have imprisoned herein. Because these things hang festering like buboes on my soul ready to rupture and allow their stinking pus to flow, I cannae further go. Still here be the key for ye to use if ye still wish to see. I ask only that ye dinna remove my chance to suicide but leaved it within and bring it not into the light. I dinna believe we'll like each other after but I will understand if ye wish not to bear my company more. This key and my love as my friend are all I have to gie thee. Pray, use both well.