squeezing out notes in a melodic fashion. repeating again between groans of disapproval. standing like a prize fighter before the biggest fight of his life. secure and calm, yet tension aches at his muscles and tears at his eyes. chaotic. groaning between blasts of the air like ice on a fire sparking and smoking feverishly.
squinting eyes, wrinkled forehead, moves- noble dances. sways. stands still. tilted head. bend. bounce. lift crossed legs. relaxed.
no, little boy, i'm not writing bout your beautiful eyes or fantastic smile. you give yourself far to much credit for things you have nothing to do with. i am sick of it. yes you are nice to look at, and have a great personality. when i first met you i was impressed by your attitude about certain things. i was impressed.
now i'm sick and disgusted by your outlook. everything is a game to you. but this is a game you've lost and there is no reset button. i won't try to impress you anymore. i am stronger and understand you. prepare yourself...