Canned in the fragrance's prevalence,
I cried out in hysteria,
only to recieve a delicious mouthful
of the scent that made my shaking body tense.
Aren't you scared I'll leave?
As much as I ring my words- so faithfully-
around your hardened throat,
I cannot seem to think or breathe,
for the stench is wafted towards my nose by your slender hand.
Aren't you scared of what you see?
I cling on, choking through the smell,
and try to make you stay,
but you walk away with a respectable face;
I am not the victim here.
Aren't you scared of me?
