.11.

Ouch. See now, this is what happens when a stupid little poet-girl can't write.
When she can't bottle up her feelings anymore. When all she can do is smash the bottle upon her flesh. Use the knife against herself. Let the fire burn.

Infliction.
Self-infliction.

It's bad. Of course it is. I know it is.
Previous night, he wants me never to do it again.
" It isn't healthy, emotionally or physically. "
He took the time to understand why I turned to self-infliction to release anger. He understood it, kindly.
So I say I won't anymore. He asks if I can promise it. I do.

Next night. Another he brings it up. A different he. He wants me to promise. From a
previous conversation, I have taken note that he does not see a promise as something
that has to be kept. He believes that at any time in the future, he may completely
withdraw his promise without argument.
I refuse to promise.
I will not create a promise knowing that I will be held to it, while promises made to me can be ignored.
It doesn't make sense. It's not fair.
As there is no use for promises with him, I offer my word.
My word is only good to those who trust me.

He refuses to take my word. Therefore he does not trust me. A promise to him is
completely out of the question.

Oof.
Maybe my logic is screwed.
Maybe I'm just too stubborn.
Perhaps I am being unfair. It could be me that isn't making sense.
Do I believe that my thoughts are always correct, no matter how illogical to others?

Who has the dirty ego here?