I’m told that you’d always despise the man who managed to gain your woman’s attention long enough for it to put a permanent hold on your love for her. I’m told that, you’d despise the existence of the man who was able to win her over faster than you could hold her.

I’m told that, you’d never forgive the man who stole what was once a piece of your happiness. I’m told that my vocabulary would never extend past hatred and regret.

I’m told that the hatred would run so deep that remorse would cease to exist and forgiveness would be as distant as he led your woman to be from me.

I’m told that rage would be the mediator of the centuries best ***-whoopin’... man if I ever put hands on him, they’d put cuffs on me, put me in cell number 3, throw away the key and **** well forget about me like how she did every time he smiled in her direction.

My prison sentence would equate to how she deemed my existence a jail cell, confined to four corners, 3 square meals and a bed to offload the despair of being trapped.

I’d imagine that, at this point, he would be the prison guard who talks to her and ***** her every time she gets lonely in her four cornered cell.