Your face has the expression that the derision in your tone has a taste.

I think you must hate it because you look at me as though at something distasteful you ate, then spit back out onto your plate.

I think someone has poisoned you into hating yourself so much that any part of me that reminds you, of you, you want to destroy.

That is a sad story about you, and does make your current situation more pitiable, but it can have no further implications on me.

I’ll have no part of it

Its given off such a stench, like liquid manure in the street, if I ever touched it I fear I’d never come clean.