The Legend of Met (Sin 27)
"Don't tell me to have pose, Control o'er how I feel. I become angry, blow; I harbor, nip one's heels. "If I knock one's block off, What's it matter to You? Mad enough, fist I'll loft, Or they'll turn be quite blue. "If blues press, I choose muse: Revenge machinations. Stomach grinds but mind loose. I plot with harsh potions. "Slow folks irk me in flash. Rivals give angst for years. If I act fast, I lash. Bitter foes I'll have, not dears. "I'll not firgive tresspass, Nor tell one I was wrong.... Sign in to see full entry.