so, this little blogger has been away for a while...did i post the last month? i don't know...this is a random post though.
also, i have been dedicating blog posts to friends, and special fans, and i wish, and hope i will still do that.
this one is for my special fan, papi, its humbling how you think of my crazy head.
...and for the rest of you, i will introduce.... Sunday mornings. i think we have established i have a bit of a domestic fetish ;)
Sunday Morning
its the rain i hear, and your breath on my neck,
Sunday morning at its best,
all tangled limbs and soft sighs,
hair in my face,
Sunday mornings are best when you move in closer...so close,
and you mold into me,
chest to back,
curves and soft skin
Sunday mornings are best, cause then i watch you wake up,
when you stretch just like that, and get closer,
Its on Sunday Morning i forget, that there is a world outside me and you.
Because you promised me once, that the world can have us the whole week, at all times,
but Sunday Mornings will always be ours,
and Sunday Mornings that find us apart, are the worst yet,
when Helena, in the garden looked upon Demetrius, and told him, when she has him in her sights, the whole world is right in front her, because he is her world.
what sentimental bullshit,
but on Sunday mornings, you are all i see,
all i touch
we belong to the world, only because we are the world
the very definition of it.
and Sunday mornings are for pancakes
and the horrible coffee you make
and cold kisses on my neck
and we can pretend the world doesn't exist.
and its okay that tomorrow is fast approaching
because we have other Sunday mornings to look forward to.
Sunday Morning- Maroon 5
happy Jamhuri Day
Wednesday, 12 December 2012
Tuesday, 13 November 2012
life in technicolour
its so bright, inside your head, the colours are so bright.
you wish it was the good kind of bright, but its not, it blinds you, and everything is moving too fast
and you can't see straight, you can't concentrate.
life in technicolour
it makes you dizzy, and you feel like you constantly want to throw up.
you walk down the street during the day, wait what? how can it be you walking?
but it is you, you see yourself, haha, this is insane, you are insane, but there you are, walking down the street, but not quite walking down the street. but walking down the street.
or it looks like you.
you walk side by side with yourself. you know where you are meant to be going. how you know this, you dont fucking know, you just know you are about to....sneeze right now. and somehow you just stopped. you dont know why either.
you hate it when this happens so suddenly. it was okay an hour ago, you know your name, you know the colour of your eyes, you know how much you weigh. you know that you have just eaten.
but here you are, you don't quite know why you are full, and why does your skin feel so strange, why is it tingly/
"when this happens to you, am going to ask you to try not to panic" they said.
BUT HOW THE FUCK CAN YOU NOT PANIC WHEN YOU ARE LOSING YOUR BODY??
somehow you are walking faster.
'stop'
faster
'no'
faster
'please'
and you get home. and no. you are still not you.
no one is home yet. its so eerily quiet the realization that its not you walking to the bathroom hits you harder.
why are you taking that bottle of pills?
stop
stop
'its okay' the other one says, 'we will make it stop' she whispers
then she takes a pill.
'it didnt work'
'you lied'
and you dont know why you are taking another pill. but the prickly feeling in your skin won't stop.
try to breathe. you cant, because he is doing it.
and you dont know how to breathe.
and you want to feel.
and you need to feel anything beside the blood beneath the skin that is not yours.
and your phone rings, and you watch yourself pick it up.
'remember to breathe'
the reminder says
'band practice in ten minutes'
and somehow a thrill goes through your spine. YOUR spine.
oh.
okay.
'good thing you hid those blades idiot'
you laugh.
OH.
and you know its YOU laughing, because you can feel the tears falling down,
and you're crying, and laughing, and you must look half mad standing in the tub laughing and crying at the same time, but you wouldn't know because you can't see it.
so you breathe.
for Rikku
you wish it was the good kind of bright, but its not, it blinds you, and everything is moving too fast
and you can't see straight, you can't concentrate.
life in technicolour
you walk down the street during the day, wait what? how can it be you walking?
but it is you, you see yourself, haha, this is insane, you are insane, but there you are, walking down the street, but not quite walking down the street. but walking down the street.
you walk side by side with yourself. you know where you are meant to be going. how you know this, you dont fucking know, you just know you are about to....sneeze right now. and somehow you just stopped. you dont know why either.
you hate it when this happens so suddenly. it was okay an hour ago, you know your name, you know the colour of your eyes, you know how much you weigh. you know that you have just eaten.
but here you are, you don't quite know why you are full, and why does your skin feel so strange, why is it tingly/
"when this happens to you, am going to ask you to try not to panic" they said.
BUT HOW THE FUCK CAN YOU NOT PANIC WHEN YOU ARE LOSING YOUR BODY??
somehow you are walking faster.
'stop'
faster
'no'
faster
'please'
and you get home. and no. you are still not you.
no one is home yet. its so eerily quiet the realization that its not you walking to the bathroom hits you harder.
why are you taking that bottle of pills?
stop
stop
'its okay' the other one says, 'we will make it stop' she whispers
then she takes a pill.
'it didnt work'
'you lied'
and you dont know why you are taking another pill. but the prickly feeling in your skin won't stop.
try to breathe. you cant, because he is doing it.
and you want to feel.
and you need to feel anything beside the blood beneath the skin that is not yours.
and your phone rings, and you watch yourself pick it up.
'remember to breathe'
the reminder says
'band practice in ten minutes'
and somehow a thrill goes through your spine. YOUR spine.
oh.
okay.
'good thing you hid those blades idiot'
you laugh.
OH.
and you know its YOU laughing, because you can feel the tears falling down,
and you're crying, and laughing, and you must look half mad standing in the tub laughing and crying at the same time, but you wouldn't know because you can't see it.
so you breathe.
for Rikku
Sunday, 4 November 2012
Elusive Light, Elusive Darkness. of wishes and wizards
when the day is bright, so bright infact, you need a pair of sunnies to block that harsh glare from the sun,
and automatically, it is somehow a sign of life. you think that maybe, its because you hate the dark, or is it all of mankind? all these little sayings and anecdotes that have been thrown around for years and years,
"its always darkest before the dawn"
you wish everyday, that when you woke up, its a little bit brighter.
but all that surrounds you is darkness. not pitch black, that, you feel would have been way better, when its dark, you stay put, everyone stays put, its over, its dark. the silence and the mood, is peaceful. the kind of darkness that sleep doesn't provide anymore. the kind of darkness that you feel needs no music to set a tone..the kind of darkness where everyone leaves you alone. the kind of darkness only death will bring it seems.
..no, the darkness that surrounds you is a shade that reminds you of wispy fog. and everyone expects you to navigate through it every morning. because it is expected. as long as there is a ray of light, you get up, and it doesn't matter if by the end of your route, you are bleeding and sore because you stepped on too many poisonous shards, or that you hit your head on a tree that you did not see coming. or you were run over by a train because dear heavens, there was a train track? as long as you are breathing, by the end of the route, regardless of the gashing wounds and parched throats, you have to do it again, and again, until its too dark. oh the darkness, how you crave it. sometimes you fancy that you spy it, but then the blasted light at the end of the tunnel shines through...and you have to keep going.
this never ending cycle of light and foggy mist, makes you wonder if this is all there is to your life.
natural lighting makes a good background for a beautiful picture. but the shades in your life are not backgrounds. everything else is. to be so consumed by this battle that is; should i step into the fog again? is it time for darkness yet? that you forget that there are people on the sidelines cheering you on. pushing you, drawing you into that everlasting light that you only get rays of it seems.
"today was a bad day" she says, she didnt turn in her work on time and got chewed and spit out. but its okay, she calls the love of her life and a joke is shared and the dementors are no more.
"today is a bad day" you say, because you woke up and that knot in your stomach has grown in size, because its monday, the world of the living calls out to you, and you swallow that lump in your throat when you can't decide whether to have muesli or bran for breakfast, but it doesnt matter anyway because you hate them both, but its monday, you cant have pancakes on monday. and the dementors swoop in and you spend your day thinking of a patronus that you start to believe never existed in the first place.
but as long as its not absolute darkness you have the damned muesli and you face the world....only its foggy, and the masses smell like dead people, and you know this because you went to see a friend at the funeral home, and it was like, 'oh, so thats the stench i have been having under my nose.'
you wonder if you smell like a corpse too.
if only wishes came true, you wouldnt have to wonder.
for sammy
for sammy
ta-ta darlings
Friday, 26 October 2012
games we play...sequel???
its about 2a.m in the morning, sitting here, with a glass of merlot on the armrest of my chaise. the only light is from the stars, the moon, the blinking lights from the sea, the lighthouse to my far right and the red glow of the cigarette in my fingers.
the scent in the air is invigorating. the sharp tang of sea salt and weeds, the smell of the palm trees, my cigarette, and the smell of lingering perfume on my skin. your scent.
as i lean back on the chaise to check on your sleeping form, the wind picks up abit, and a light thunder rolls, the call of a quick rolling summer rain. it make s me feel so alive, to witness the beginnings of life giving showers. this is what it feels like, i cant help but think, to witness the world in its element. a battle of sorts, between the stars and the clouds, the sea and the rain.
right on cue, a big fat raindrop hits my cheek, cools it. and i cannot move right now, and i watch my cigarette get put out by the random drops and my wine get diluted, impurified, by what is all pure from the heavens, and i feel the goosebumps on my skin, and the robe i have on sticks to my skin, as though it wants to mold itself into me, the way you did earlier...and just like that, my thoughts are back on you, but i need not turn to see if you are sleeping peacefully, you were always one for the rain. i remember, once upon a time, we would sit up and talk on the steps of your mother's porch, until the early hours of the morning, when people started going to work, and we would head back to your room and sleep. i remember when it started raining, mid confessions of love, and you took my hand, led me into your room, and oh my heavens when you dropped the soaked blanket, and the tee shirt you sleep in was stuck to you, and i couldnt tear my eyes away from you, and my mouth felt suspiciously dry...and there we were shivering in our night clothes, soaked to the bone, and i knew for the first time what it was to be so consumed with want that you want to weep. and the look in your eyes, as if you knew, and when you told me later, you got tired of waiting, got tired of the little kisses we shared...and you didnt know that before you lifted your hands and undressed i thought of you as my perfect little snowflake, so pure and sweet..so tender..and how after you leant in and took my tee shirt off, i was scared i was going to burn you with the intensity of my need. the wantonness of my desires. so unpure and ugly and-
you interrupt my train of thought, but that's okay, because i was so close to wake you up, to show you that everytime it rains, i dont sleep because i remember...always remember...
...it seems you do too...because you step into the balcony naked as the day you were born, only more...grown up. and you sit on my lap, and bury your face in my neck, shivering a little.
"you should put some clothes on"
"you should come back to bed"
you smile, because this happens everytime we come here, I want to witness the day being born, you want to be fucked against the railing of the balcony, and this is how it always starts.
but today, with the now light drizzle, and the orange tint of the sky, and memories of the past, i feel abit sentimental, and I cant help but think...
"marry me"
you laugh, and for a minute my whole world stops, and i want to take it back, maybe ten years is not enough to know that you cant stand it when someone leaves, maybe we fight too much. oh my god maybe she fucks other people, and im the only one who feels this way.
"stop it"
and i look up into your eyes because when you use that tone it means am always in trouble. and your face is cold, and closed, and the word snowflake fleets through my mind. and i have never in my life been scared except perhaps for when my mother fell ill. and my heart breaks when you open your mouth; and im watching that beautiful mouth open and it takes me a minute to hear what you say because im trying to memorize it for when you surely dump my ass...but then..
"you dont have a ring"
and am shaking my head..
"get me a ring"
and you are smiling, and i want to absolutely murder you, then hump your leg to orgasm, but then you kiss me, and i think maybe its better i f i kept you alive.
A/N: writing this from the head, so unplanned. and scared my boss is gonna walk in!
also...if you havent noticed, these posts are for the girl i will marry, hopefully i will propose more eloquently, and elegantly...but i know she will say yes.
ciao bellas
the scent in the air is invigorating. the sharp tang of sea salt and weeds, the smell of the palm trees, my cigarette, and the smell of lingering perfume on my skin. your scent.
as i lean back on the chaise to check on your sleeping form, the wind picks up abit, and a light thunder rolls, the call of a quick rolling summer rain. it make s me feel so alive, to witness the beginnings of life giving showers. this is what it feels like, i cant help but think, to witness the world in its element. a battle of sorts, between the stars and the clouds, the sea and the rain.
right on cue, a big fat raindrop hits my cheek, cools it. and i cannot move right now, and i watch my cigarette get put out by the random drops and my wine get diluted, impurified, by what is all pure from the heavens, and i feel the goosebumps on my skin, and the robe i have on sticks to my skin, as though it wants to mold itself into me, the way you did earlier...and just like that, my thoughts are back on you, but i need not turn to see if you are sleeping peacefully, you were always one for the rain. i remember, once upon a time, we would sit up and talk on the steps of your mother's porch, until the early hours of the morning, when people started going to work, and we would head back to your room and sleep. i remember when it started raining, mid confessions of love, and you took my hand, led me into your room, and oh my heavens when you dropped the soaked blanket, and the tee shirt you sleep in was stuck to you, and i couldnt tear my eyes away from you, and my mouth felt suspiciously dry...and there we were shivering in our night clothes, soaked to the bone, and i knew for the first time what it was to be so consumed with want that you want to weep. and the look in your eyes, as if you knew, and when you told me later, you got tired of waiting, got tired of the little kisses we shared...and you didnt know that before you lifted your hands and undressed i thought of you as my perfect little snowflake, so pure and sweet..so tender..and how after you leant in and took my tee shirt off, i was scared i was going to burn you with the intensity of my need. the wantonness of my desires. so unpure and ugly and-
you interrupt my train of thought, but that's okay, because i was so close to wake you up, to show you that everytime it rains, i dont sleep because i remember...always remember...
...it seems you do too...because you step into the balcony naked as the day you were born, only more...grown up. and you sit on my lap, and bury your face in my neck, shivering a little.
"you should put some clothes on"
"you should come back to bed"
you smile, because this happens everytime we come here, I want to witness the day being born, you want to be fucked against the railing of the balcony, and this is how it always starts.
but today, with the now light drizzle, and the orange tint of the sky, and memories of the past, i feel abit sentimental, and I cant help but think...
"marry me"
you laugh, and for a minute my whole world stops, and i want to take it back, maybe ten years is not enough to know that you cant stand it when someone leaves, maybe we fight too much. oh my god maybe she fucks other people, and im the only one who feels this way.
"stop it"
and i look up into your eyes because when you use that tone it means am always in trouble. and your face is cold, and closed, and the word snowflake fleets through my mind. and i have never in my life been scared except perhaps for when my mother fell ill. and my heart breaks when you open your mouth; and im watching that beautiful mouth open and it takes me a minute to hear what you say because im trying to memorize it for when you surely dump my ass...but then..
"you dont have a ring"
and am shaking my head..
"get me a ring"
and you are smiling, and i want to absolutely murder you, then hump your leg to orgasm, but then you kiss me, and i think maybe its better i f i kept you alive.
A/N: writing this from the head, so unplanned. and scared my boss is gonna walk in!
also...if you havent noticed, these posts are for the girl i will marry, hopefully i will propose more eloquently, and elegantly...but i know she will say yes.
ciao bellas
Wednesday, 17 October 2012
numbers in my head
every week day, at exactly 5:30 a.m...your alarm goes off. exactly 15 minutes of snooze time.
so basically you wake up at 5:45a.m
..Always get out of bed from the right side. no matter what side you wake up on. the bed cannot be next to the wall. its exactly four steps from the left wall. four steps to the right to your window seat that is exactly two feet long and two feet wide. with a side table that is one by one in feet. the table has one peach vase, with four peach calla lilies that are freshened up every Tuesdays. when you wake up, you take two minutes, to fill in your dream diary.
always the same:
time of getting into bed: 9:30
time of sleep: 10:p.m
in between, you read your entry from last nights dream. and count exactly 82 white sheep before you fall asleep. you turn off your lamp at 9:56p.m
focus.
when you wake up. you take four steps to your right. to your four by four foot window seat and open the drapes. then you pick up the yoga mat that is two paces to your right and two paces to your left from your boudoir. and you take 24 paces across the room to your door. turn on two lights.
from your bedroom door, it takes 32 paces to your kitchen. you turn on the kettle and take 16 paces to the bathroom door. four paces to the loo. at exactly 6a.m you take a piss. at 6:02 your lax kicks in. at 6:10 you have washed your face. and there is a green mug full of black steaming coffee. exactly four tablespoons for two mugs. its two steps from the kettle to the refrigerator, and two steps from the refrigerator to the microwave, that is two steps to be blender, that is two steps across from the water dispenser that is 8 steps from the cooker and oven that is six steps from the kitchen table.
it takes 4minutes for your coffee to steep, an extra two minutes to get to the right temperature. 42 degrees Celsius on a cold day like today. in those six minutes you do your morning stretching Pilates. exactly 4 sets of 20 reps of 8 moves. four songs.
at 6:16 you take your first cup of coffee and have it in the living room exactly 16 paces from your kitchen door. you seat on the couch that is two paces from the armchair that is two paces from your fireplace, and four paces to the love seat that is four paces to the bay window. that you don't like because its two centimeters crooked but you shrug cause you cant have everything.
at 6:20 you take a shower that lasts exactly 4 minutes. two minutes soap, two minutes rinse. you like the feel of the hot water on your skin. at 6:24 you get ready. you wear clothes you set out last night at 9:25. you feel like purple today, but its not Thursday so you wear black. its only tomorrow.
at 6:28 you put exactly half a cup of muesli in the bowl that you keep on a shelf two inches above your microwave with a spoon from the perch two inches from that shelf. exactly one cup of 50% cream milk and half a banana. gods you hate Wednesdays.
at 6:32 exactly eight banana pieces with the second spoonful of each count of 16 you wash your bowl and leave it to dry. you have your second cup of coffee.
you think about your day. and cross check your to-do list, diary and journal. at exactly 6:40 you leave for work. you always walk. cars can be so unreliable. traffic, and the wrong number of cars infront of you. just like you always take the stairs to the sixth floor. exactly 180 steps. elevators are dirty. and they would never allow you to admit four people per trip. and what if you get stuck??? with all those germs and people with the wrong length of ties and shoe laces. they would extract a comatose body by the time you get to your floor. like that time everyone thought you wouldn't notice if they moved your desk half an inch to the left... THE LEFT??!!! and you stabbed yourself with a pen because you didn't know what was happening...everything just felt so...wrong...and crawly..and wrong...and itchy and you had to make it stop.
but here you are....in front of the elevator...because the doctor says you have to try. TRY. the imbecile has the wrong level of nails. he wants you to trust your VERY EXISTENCE into his uneven nailed hand. but here you are... it might not be bad..you chant. especially when Cillian with the green eyes and black hair you want to smell smiles at you and waves you over......
(tbc...?)
so basically you wake up at 5:45a.m
..Always get out of bed from the right side. no matter what side you wake up on. the bed cannot be next to the wall. its exactly four steps from the left wall. four steps to the right to your window seat that is exactly two feet long and two feet wide. with a side table that is one by one in feet. the table has one peach vase, with four peach calla lilies that are freshened up every Tuesdays. when you wake up, you take two minutes, to fill in your dream diary.
always the same:
time of getting into bed: 9:30
time of sleep: 10:p.m
in between, you read your entry from last nights dream. and count exactly 82 white sheep before you fall asleep. you turn off your lamp at 9:56p.m
focus.
when you wake up. you take four steps to your right. to your four by four foot window seat and open the drapes. then you pick up the yoga mat that is two paces to your right and two paces to your left from your boudoir. and you take 24 paces across the room to your door. turn on two lights.
from your bedroom door, it takes 32 paces to your kitchen. you turn on the kettle and take 16 paces to the bathroom door. four paces to the loo. at exactly 6a.m you take a piss. at 6:02 your lax kicks in. at 6:10 you have washed your face. and there is a green mug full of black steaming coffee. exactly four tablespoons for two mugs. its two steps from the kettle to the refrigerator, and two steps from the refrigerator to the microwave, that is two steps to be blender, that is two steps across from the water dispenser that is 8 steps from the cooker and oven that is six steps from the kitchen table.
it takes 4minutes for your coffee to steep, an extra two minutes to get to the right temperature. 42 degrees Celsius on a cold day like today. in those six minutes you do your morning stretching Pilates. exactly 4 sets of 20 reps of 8 moves. four songs.
at 6:16 you take your first cup of coffee and have it in the living room exactly 16 paces from your kitchen door. you seat on the couch that is two paces from the armchair that is two paces from your fireplace, and four paces to the love seat that is four paces to the bay window. that you don't like because its two centimeters crooked but you shrug cause you cant have everything.
at 6:20 you take a shower that lasts exactly 4 minutes. two minutes soap, two minutes rinse. you like the feel of the hot water on your skin. at 6:24 you get ready. you wear clothes you set out last night at 9:25. you feel like purple today, but its not Thursday so you wear black. its only tomorrow.
at 6:28 you put exactly half a cup of muesli in the bowl that you keep on a shelf two inches above your microwave with a spoon from the perch two inches from that shelf. exactly one cup of 50% cream milk and half a banana. gods you hate Wednesdays.
at 6:32 exactly eight banana pieces with the second spoonful of each count of 16 you wash your bowl and leave it to dry. you have your second cup of coffee.
you think about your day. and cross check your to-do list, diary and journal. at exactly 6:40 you leave for work. you always walk. cars can be so unreliable. traffic, and the wrong number of cars infront of you. just like you always take the stairs to the sixth floor. exactly 180 steps. elevators are dirty. and they would never allow you to admit four people per trip. and what if you get stuck??? with all those germs and people with the wrong length of ties and shoe laces. they would extract a comatose body by the time you get to your floor. like that time everyone thought you wouldn't notice if they moved your desk half an inch to the left... THE LEFT??!!! and you stabbed yourself with a pen because you didn't know what was happening...everything just felt so...wrong...and crawly..and wrong...and itchy and you had to make it stop.
but here you are....in front of the elevator...because the doctor says you have to try. TRY. the imbecile has the wrong level of nails. he wants you to trust your VERY EXISTENCE into his uneven nailed hand. but here you are... it might not be bad..you chant. especially when Cillian with the green eyes and black hair you want to smell smiles at you and waves you over......
(tbc...?)
Tuesday, 25 September 2012
ahoi
really now, i won't even try to apologize for my absence, it was unwarranted, and it was mainly due to general laziness. but...forgive me?? its not that i haven't had shit to write about; oh darling i have a country full of shit to write about...bu like i said....laaaazy.
anyway,school is back in!! i was surprisingly a social whore this break. lol. am not even kidding, i can count in one hand, with a finger or two to spare, how many weekends, i have spent not sober. it was fucking amazing though why lie?
oh boooo i don't feel like giving you an account of shizz,it boring. wait for a twisted version, with possibilities of blood and more drugs than i can consume. also, if you knw where i can get MDMA, or acid, holla. kidding. maybe. not reaallly, yeah, am kidding...or am i?:P
anyhu...gtg
anyway,school is back in!! i was surprisingly a social whore this break. lol. am not even kidding, i can count in one hand, with a finger or two to spare, how many weekends, i have spent not sober. it was fucking amazing though why lie?
oh boooo i don't feel like giving you an account of shizz,it boring. wait for a twisted version, with possibilities of blood and more drugs than i can consume. also, if you knw where i can get MDMA, or acid, holla. kidding. maybe. not reaallly, yeah, am kidding...or am i?:P
anyhu...gtg
Wednesday, 8 August 2012
words on skin
blood.
blood.
its always about the blood.
the blood in your veins, the blood on the previously pristine white sheets.
the blood on the ropes digging into your wrists. into your ankles.
the blood he....harvests from your body.
fresh, vibrant.
the smell of it...iron, salt, and lord....freedom.
the air is ripe with it. it makes you go crazy...sends tingles down your spine. harsh breathing, whimpers, soft sighs, soft questions...
" do you like that baby?" he whispers into your ear, and runs his fingers soothingly over your ass. his ass. everything is his. your body, mind...and yes, your heart.
you whimper when he digs his nails into a fresh cut...you rub yourself on the sheets, you need friction, something, anything. tense is not a word to describe just how tight you are sprung right now. literally. it must be the loss of blood, it might be the X in your blood, but that thought makes you want to laugh, and you would have, if not for the gag in your mouth. you nod. yes, always yes.
he knows what you are doing...rubbing yourself off like that on the sheets like a bitch in heat. he likes that. so he presses your body deeper into the mattress...and you moan when you feel the swell of the sheets between your legs. the proof of his need on your thigh like that. and he lets go....and you cant stop rubbing yourself..humping, clenching...close...oh..oh so..so close...gonna cum....cummi..
the blow comes swiftly, fast, hard, unforgiving. you cry out, and you feel the tears sting at the corners of your eyes. and again. and again.. and again. you know your back, ass and thighs are a piece of art right now. a painting...all red purple and swollen. by his hand. he is the artist, and your body the canvass of his work. such an honour.....it is such an honour to serve him like this.
he turns you to your back..so gentle, so soft, and you wince when your back touches the bed...but its okay, you can see his face now, his beautiful face, his beautiful haunted eyes, dark with need and arousal (i cant believe that line:author. loool) . so sad...he is so sad, but he won't, can't stop....for you, always for you. sometimes, you don't know who the master is, who is leading who, in this dance of yours.
remember the first time, so many insults, so many arguments, so bitter, he threw a punch, called you a bitch. and you fell to your knees and sucked him off. despite the horrified look on his face, and the shame in his eyes, he let you. and later, you wouldn't let him take you to the hospital. and when he tried to hold you...you walked out. and he got the message.
and here you are...legs spread wide, fuck leaking on to the sheets. you can smell it in the air.
blood. sweat. semen. sex.
and you feel alive.
he runs his fingers over your face..so beautiful he whispers. you are so fucking beautiful baby- pant- you should see yourself angel. and his fingers stop at the gag in your mouth. runs rough pad over sensitive skin.and you tremble...because he knows what you want...and he will give it to you.
he kisses you despite the gag. he sucks your bottom lip into his mouth. bites your upper lip. all wet, spit running down your face. lick, bite, suck...more.
after that first day, he would never touch your face. he said, the day he touches your face, will be the day its all over. for good....he doesn't know just how true that statement is.
he leaves the bed abruptly, and you are left counting the starts behind your eye lids.
he comes back...and you scream. through the gag, its muffled, but your lungs are protesting..oh the pain. oh the joy, oh the ecstasy of a hot so fucking hot knife on your ribs.
it burns and you bleed.
like his kisses.
his touches.
he carves his initials on your chest. between your tits. such a sap, the love of your life is. the best. and he carves deeper into your tummy. above your navel. he carves your hip bones.
oh so much blood.
you feel so lightheaded...and you think you might pass out when you feel the knife in your inner thigh.
maybe you do...because for a second, its all black, when he thrusts into you so hard, and all you can focus on is him. inside, you. all over you. in you. up and down you. so fast. and he carves some more.
thrust. slice. blood.
thrust. slice. blood.
yes.
he rips off the gag. and its funny how now you have nothing to scream. he fucks the breath out of you. and you want more.
its sticky between you. the blood, gods the blood. and the sweat makes it sting, and your mouth waters at the thought. and he carves your thigh, deeper. and he is horrified, as the blood pumps out in rhythm with your weak pulse. and now you scream.
"that's it baby." pant. grunt. groan. "sing for me angel"
and you sing. and he kisses you. tongues wet. soft. more. baby...
your pulse falters, he clutches at your neck. and squeezes. in time with his fucking. and its glorious.
"do you want to cum?"
"yes." always yes.
"then cum"
his eyes on you. his hand on your neck. harder, deeper, tighter...tighter..tighter...and its all black now. nothing but his pants. his moans, his groans.
he lets go...and you're brought back to earth by the feel of steel on your cheek. breath hitches. its over.
"this is the last time." he whispers...and he cuts. meticulous. beautiful. oh it hurts, and you cant help but smile. he is making you so pretty. tears mingle with the blood on your cheeks...and he smiles back.
"i love you."
you laugh. so weak. " you are such a sap"
he pulls out and lies next to you.
you take the knife.....and carve your initials on his chest.
the sheets are saturated with blood and proof of your orgasms.
he smiles.."who's the sap again."
always you you whisper...and he closes his eyes.
and you press the tip of the knife to his heart. and you press. its hard. so you press harder. his eyes open in confusion, fear...betrayal...but you smile.
"i love you"
and you put all your weight on that knife...and realization dawns on him. and before his eyes go dull. he smiles,
"sap"
you won't cry.
whoever finds you...will find the proof of your love on your chests.
so you lay your head on his now still chest...and you let go.
(i feel like i should apologize for any trauma caused. but i wont.)
blood.
its always about the blood.
the blood in your veins, the blood on the previously pristine white sheets.
the blood on the ropes digging into your wrists. into your ankles.
the blood he....harvests from your body.
fresh, vibrant.
the smell of it...iron, salt, and lord....freedom.
the air is ripe with it. it makes you go crazy...sends tingles down your spine. harsh breathing, whimpers, soft sighs, soft questions...
" do you like that baby?" he whispers into your ear, and runs his fingers soothingly over your ass. his ass. everything is his. your body, mind...and yes, your heart.
you whimper when he digs his nails into a fresh cut...you rub yourself on the sheets, you need friction, something, anything. tense is not a word to describe just how tight you are sprung right now. literally. it must be the loss of blood, it might be the X in your blood, but that thought makes you want to laugh, and you would have, if not for the gag in your mouth. you nod. yes, always yes.
he knows what you are doing...rubbing yourself off like that on the sheets like a bitch in heat. he likes that. so he presses your body deeper into the mattress...and you moan when you feel the swell of the sheets between your legs. the proof of his need on your thigh like that. and he lets go....and you cant stop rubbing yourself..humping, clenching...close...oh..oh so..so close...gonna cum....cummi..
the blow comes swiftly, fast, hard, unforgiving. you cry out, and you feel the tears sting at the corners of your eyes. and again. and again.. and again. you know your back, ass and thighs are a piece of art right now. a painting...all red purple and swollen. by his hand. he is the artist, and your body the canvass of his work. such an honour.....it is such an honour to serve him like this.
he turns you to your back..so gentle, so soft, and you wince when your back touches the bed...but its okay, you can see his face now, his beautiful face, his beautiful haunted eyes, dark with need and arousal (i cant believe that line:author. loool) . so sad...he is so sad, but he won't, can't stop....for you, always for you. sometimes, you don't know who the master is, who is leading who, in this dance of yours.
remember the first time, so many insults, so many arguments, so bitter, he threw a punch, called you a bitch. and you fell to your knees and sucked him off. despite the horrified look on his face, and the shame in his eyes, he let you. and later, you wouldn't let him take you to the hospital. and when he tried to hold you...you walked out. and he got the message.
and here you are...legs spread wide, fuck leaking on to the sheets. you can smell it in the air.
blood. sweat. semen. sex.
and you feel alive.
he runs his fingers over your face..so beautiful he whispers. you are so fucking beautiful baby- pant- you should see yourself angel. and his fingers stop at the gag in your mouth. runs rough pad over sensitive skin.and you tremble...because he knows what you want...and he will give it to you.
he kisses you despite the gag. he sucks your bottom lip into his mouth. bites your upper lip. all wet, spit running down your face. lick, bite, suck...more.
after that first day, he would never touch your face. he said, the day he touches your face, will be the day its all over. for good....he doesn't know just how true that statement is.
he leaves the bed abruptly, and you are left counting the starts behind your eye lids.
he comes back...and you scream. through the gag, its muffled, but your lungs are protesting..oh the pain. oh the joy, oh the ecstasy of a hot so fucking hot knife on your ribs.
it burns and you bleed.
like his kisses.
his touches.
he carves his initials on your chest. between your tits. such a sap, the love of your life is. the best. and he carves deeper into your tummy. above your navel. he carves your hip bones.
oh so much blood.
you feel so lightheaded...and you think you might pass out when you feel the knife in your inner thigh.
maybe you do...because for a second, its all black, when he thrusts into you so hard, and all you can focus on is him. inside, you. all over you. in you. up and down you. so fast. and he carves some more.
thrust. slice. blood.
thrust. slice. blood.
yes.
he rips off the gag. and its funny how now you have nothing to scream. he fucks the breath out of you. and you want more.
its sticky between you. the blood, gods the blood. and the sweat makes it sting, and your mouth waters at the thought. and he carves your thigh, deeper. and he is horrified, as the blood pumps out in rhythm with your weak pulse. and now you scream.
"that's it baby." pant. grunt. groan. "sing for me angel"
and you sing. and he kisses you. tongues wet. soft. more. baby...
your pulse falters, he clutches at your neck. and squeezes. in time with his fucking. and its glorious.
"do you want to cum?"
"yes." always yes.
"then cum"
his eyes on you. his hand on your neck. harder, deeper, tighter...tighter..tighter...and its all black now. nothing but his pants. his moans, his groans.
he lets go...and you're brought back to earth by the feel of steel on your cheek. breath hitches. its over.
"this is the last time." he whispers...and he cuts. meticulous. beautiful. oh it hurts, and you cant help but smile. he is making you so pretty. tears mingle with the blood on your cheeks...and he smiles back.
"i love you."
you laugh. so weak. " you are such a sap"
he pulls out and lies next to you.
you take the knife.....and carve your initials on his chest.
the sheets are saturated with blood and proof of your orgasms.
he smiles.."who's the sap again."
always you you whisper...and he closes his eyes.
and you press the tip of the knife to his heart. and you press. its hard. so you press harder. his eyes open in confusion, fear...betrayal...but you smile.
"i love you"
and you put all your weight on that knife...and realization dawns on him. and before his eyes go dull. he smiles,
"sap"
you won't cry.
whoever finds you...will find the proof of your love on your chests.
so you lay your head on his now still chest...and you let go.
(i feel like i should apologize for any trauma caused. but i wont.)
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