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.