Work my Magic

Straight from my Inbox, a dear friend from the US wrote:

“I’m a constant lurker in your blog. You're happier these days. I loved you more when you were darker. Bitchier. What ever happened to the Bitch? Bring the Bitch back, please!

You’re effin’ too sugar n’ spice, I cannot believe you’re still the one writing. I don’t love you less, but I know you’re keepin’ a lot. Spill the fuckin’ beans!”

Have I been, really?

Sugar n’ spice, everythin’ nice, I mean?

The Ex-Boyfriend’s skin would have crawled by now if he heard this.

Three years ago --- nice --- is not a word to describe me.

I have not turned my back away from the Fight Club.

No, I never did.

I just decided to bite my tongue a bit longer.

And bite my tongue I did. To the point of almost bleeding and bludgeoning myself to death.

Shall I bite any longer?

Half-evil, half-angel. Partly jaded, partly grounded.

Sinner, saint.

The reality is, I will always bear this dichotomy with me.

I’m not the only one guilty of murder by sheer imagination.

The Bitch shall rise once provoked.

Thou… shall… not… tempt… me.