Take It How You Wish

You're very, very lucky.  I don't think you even know it.

I have a Cuchulain-type of temper sometimes, you see, red haze before the eyes, battle rage slipping sandpaper fingers up the spine and all the Morrigan's magic calling for the end of the offender inside me with the rough, harsh cough of a black raven.

And you, you are redlining it.

It's taken me years, painful years of work to get a leash on this thing.  I have broken bones in one of my hands from the lessons I had to learn to do it.  I view them as both a badge of shame and a medal of honor.  They remind me of where I've been and who I am now.

I won't let this thing in me slip its collar for you.  Not even when it grins its big game pit grin because you keep stabbing it with a pointed stick.  Not even because you won't let it have a minute's rest to recover.

I believe what goes around comes around.  It won't be me who dishes it, though.  I love myself too much for that.

You can take this how you will.