I smell it coming from your pores

*sigh*

I can see it. running down your face when you sweat.

Your heart is bleeding... crying.

Youre bitter. Mad.

But not at me. With yourself.

These things you say to me. its issues you have to deal with within yourself.

I refuse to subject myself to you.

You cant be happy when you are eternally mad.

This right now will be cataloged with my "happy times"

I am able to fight through and not be able to be pulled under in the quick sand of your spite.

You will not treat her as a possesion.

She is not some trinket, some token of affection. Something given to me that you feel you can pull away.

No sir.
No ma'am.

I did not namesake she Bauble.

This is no longer a game of which I am a player.

Too long.

I can smell the bitterness coming from your pores

much like whiskey on the brow of an old drunkard.

and for that I refer you to a therapy group.

cause you need something.

but no longer will it be me.