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February 21, 2008
You the one who bought me a chain-mail bra for my birthday.

You loved me, I believe that now. You allowed me the mortification I required, but in a safe space. Bent me over, bruised me with a wooden spoon... then poured me a hot bubble bath and a glass of sweet champagne. Called me slut, whore... then bent to tenderly kiss my sticky lips.

I chased you away. I believed those words Id begged you to say. Battered your kind eyes with my indignant insistence you could not possibly love such a twisted, vile creature as I.

Could you?