She stripped me of my collar, of my comfort, and of my self control. SHE, the one, my Voo-Doo queen from New Orleans...
Mistress, lover, and supposed to be my wife. She came, she conquered, she destroyed me.
There is a demon in my head, and things are getting pretty cramped. I wish I could open a window and gets some air.
I spoke with the one who's heart I broke, but the demon wants him and I don't know if I can tame it. It senses his innocence, his purity, and wants to devour it. Maybe I wanted the same thing when we met, who knows??
The power is thrilling, giddy am I to think of ripping his defenses down and corrupting him till he can't walk or see straight. I try to keep this last part of me alive, this last part of me that cares, but I have been stripped bare.
She turned on me, "For your own good," she says. She stripped her mark from around my neck and denounced me. I am no longer hers, her to control, hers to command, hers to love. My Mistress has forsaken me, and I do not know if I can remain me for much longer. She was what held my will, and now, has she taken it with her? For surely she has taken my heart.
I am weak. I am tired, and I am so sorry. Each day, though, the remorse is a little less and the thrilling feel of power over others worms it's way further in. It's like this oily, thick, noxious tentacle that wraps around my heart and squeezes, I can feel the barbs of it's defenses sinking deeper in, and the blood that seeps is black and corosive.
They gave me new drugs to try, and shots and threats and waved brochures in my face. The cops were there, and they threatened me with my secret. I have to find a way to fight for my secret, but, can I?
She stripped me bare, my lover. She stripped my last shred of control, my last ounce of decency, and I hate her for it.