Fawning, burning, crawling, yearning, falling: a greenhorn learning. Bread and water, bricks and mortar. Quicksand. Martyr. I built you this home complete with Stockholm Syndrome. You're a word that I can't spell with a meaning I don't know. I'm Deborah Bradshaw walking house to house with handicrafts, in Idaho, speaking in monotone. It's so obvious, I can't believe that you don't see. All I've ever wanted is to exist inside your brain. Romance or nearest offer, just know my fucking name.