I am trouble.
You tell me that you need to run away from me, even as you walk towards me. All I do is smile like I’m the Mona Lisa. I look forward to seeing what you will do.
I am a problem.
You tell me that I’m bad for your health, as you rub my beard. I like it, but will not tell you to continue or not. This is your show; direct this play as you deem fit.
I am dangerous.
You’re confused, swinging on a mental pendulum between safety and lust, common sense and hubris, contentment and greed. Do you dare? I must confess that I enjoy watching you exchange your clothes for risks.
But I will not be to blame.
I am simply a tool that you will use and discard. Don’t hurt yourself.