She would
squeeze me gently and I would
pour into her
hand and then she would
rub my
being into her
hair; every
morning she would do this and every
morning right after our beloved display of affection she would proceed to fondle the
towel! Making me watch in my
misery. The nerve she had to make me suffer in such a manner every day from the moment we had met. After she was done with the
towel she would leave, only to come back every so often and pretend that I was a stranger as she lost herself in her
facewash or gave her self to the
toilet, perhaps even doing unpeakable things with the
toothbrush. I was lost in my
love for her, more and more violently transcending my
downward spiral.
Every new
bottle of me that she bought, I was more and more
infatuated, more and more sent into
oblivion until one day she tore my
soul into a million shreds of
darkness. She left me
crippled,
pathetic and
useless, alone in the blackness of my
misery for all
eternity.
She changed brands.