It seem to be the end of me, Mother. Hurry, murder me and let your grieves stained on my leash. It will be lingering forever and choking me and torturing me and forcing me to place the sacred canine teeth behind your sleep, though I told them I am no longer untamed. Tell nightmares I said BARK! I am the shadow growing under your rage. Therein from a mourning funeral and whistling cries, meet me in a graveyard, SIX FEET UNDER! You closed the curtain but I might decide to haunt our livingroom. Forget me and the day I was begging for you to stop—erase them, abominate me.