"May I Share My Story?" The Ice Man

I’ve forced women to do some terrible things. Abortions, put their body’s up for pleasure, be unfaithful to their feelings, but worst of all, I’ve made some consider cutting their own life short.
Who am I to have so much influence on a woman’s mind? A Queen, the one who gives life, a symbol of the one who gave me mine. I’m pissed off. Where is she that will slap me and say nigga please? My words make them so weak. But how when I hardly speak? Questions with no answers. My momma said, it’s because I walk with my fathers pants and I have her luring eyes. The sins of the parents. I adopted skills I didn’t ask for and would quickly return in exchange for my own life.
These women, they love me and they hate me. They can’t stand to be the least 2ft away from me, but push me when I’m close only to pull be back to em before I fall off.
I appear to love it. I appear to want more of it as I keep going after these poor hearts. It’s really depression that makes me hungry to create pain. Pain is what created me. Pain is what makes me. My fathers pain mixed with his mothers pain and my mothers pain mixed with her family’s pain, conjoined to create me.
I forced women to do dirty things, but it wasn’t really me. It was the different souls inside of me that spoke to them, that convinced them, a different soul speaking to each different person. I’ve been there when body’s fell and loved ones were lost. My silence ate up their spine just as much as them bullets did, actually worse. I can feel their spirits around me, whenever I speak, whenever I eat, whenever I fuck, and whenever the music’s playing in my ears and through my speakers, it’s not the artist I hear, it’s their cries. These spirits never leave. Frustrated, I take my frustrations out on two breasts, a smooth neck, some nice legs, gorgeous lips, pretty feet, and a pathway inside the temple. Sick, is it? Unfortunately I must say that there is no medicine for this one.
Why don’t I just walk away? Why can’t I keep quiet and my distance? I need them, just as I know they need me and the lessons that comes with fantasizing in I. I, need their warmness, without it I’d freeze to death. Then I’ll cease to exist completely, and whatever happens will just have to happen. I just hope none of them kills me.

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