I do not know what kind of Angel you are but you keep looking at me and calling me your bitch. You drove by my house. You traveled all the way to CT. My life has been hell and you are apart of the reason why. You have to be because I keep seeing you. And, I do not care about your penis. You are the one who posed nude in a movie for everyone to see your penis, and I just gave my opionion and all hell broke loose.
Now, when I had nowhere to sleep in Florida, you made me beleive that Aretha Franklin (R.I.P) was talking to me and telling me to go to California for a record deal.
Some Angel you are.
It is my soul you are playing Jesus with. And I do not mind helping, but I have a problem with being decieved. Do you understand why?