(no subject)
What now?
What happens when love walks out the door? What do I do when Love leaves, all thorns and sharp edges?
Love, it rushes out with storm, ripping your flesh along the way.
Deep red and iron on your tongue and dark shadows unfilled by the brightest incandescent.
You leave and I and sit, empty and hallow.
I crave the pain from the old. I crave the pain I know. I wonder if for a brief moment.
If I regress and pull out the sharp things, will it make me feel whole again. Will it calm the screeching wretch in my soul?
Perhaps familiar pain will find it's way in and handle me.
This pain does not know me. This pain does not sooth like the blade, or the sting of a whip.
That hot white pain is something I know. I beg for it.
We are kin.
I have even grown to love the pain when it comes in all of it's sweet sharp stings. I cherish the bruises and beg for more. I have come to love the feel of a cock too big ripping at my insides and the feel of nails ripping at my flesh. The taste I beg for, you keep from me.
But this... This I don't know, This ache that begins at my heart and twists my insides, This screaming of the mind, The antagonizing soul. I feel it writhing like a mad beast and I can't make it calm.
I can't find the center of it and breathe. I can't live with it like a hero or use it as a muse. I feel only the empty call of death. The hallow feeling before I vomit. The uselessness of self. Poetry and pain are useless. Even the sharpest knife appears dull as useless against this. The beast.
There is NOTHING beckoning and I am in the worlds between, I had it all, SOMETHING just at my finger tips.
And with a deep and menacing, "Fuck you, little girl."
Your eyes looking at me with all the hate of all the women who beat you down. All of their hate and it's pouring on to me. The guts of your fell and then FUCK YOU LITTLE GIRL.
and fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK!!!! FUCK!!!
I'd rather you hit me. I'd rather you cut me and make me bleed.
Bring me to deaths floor, but do it by my side.
Don't leave me rotting in my bed alone, my brain twisted in tumors of my putrid self.
Don't leave me screaming for you.
Don't leave me needing you.
I need you to love me. Be angry with me. Fuck me. Fucking hit me of you need to.
Tie me up and choke me, till I am close to death.
Make me wonder if your face is the last I'll ever see.
But while you do it, fill me with you.
Make me beg all you want. Fill me till it hurts and then press into me harder.
Break me. Make me beg you to stop, beg you to keep going.
I'll beg at your knees till the day I die, so long as you stay.
Just stay.
I am nothing with out you.
I can't be nothing.
What happens when love walks out the door? What do I do when Love leaves, all thorns and sharp edges?
Love, it rushes out with storm, ripping your flesh along the way.
Deep red and iron on your tongue and dark shadows unfilled by the brightest incandescent.
You leave and I and sit, empty and hallow.
I crave the pain from the old. I crave the pain I know. I wonder if for a brief moment.
If I regress and pull out the sharp things, will it make me feel whole again. Will it calm the screeching wretch in my soul?
Perhaps familiar pain will find it's way in and handle me.
This pain does not know me. This pain does not sooth like the blade, or the sting of a whip.
That hot white pain is something I know. I beg for it.
We are kin.
I have even grown to love the pain when it comes in all of it's sweet sharp stings. I cherish the bruises and beg for more. I have come to love the feel of a cock too big ripping at my insides and the feel of nails ripping at my flesh. The taste I beg for, you keep from me.
But this... This I don't know, This ache that begins at my heart and twists my insides, This screaming of the mind, The antagonizing soul. I feel it writhing like a mad beast and I can't make it calm.
I can't find the center of it and breathe. I can't live with it like a hero or use it as a muse. I feel only the empty call of death. The hallow feeling before I vomit. The uselessness of self. Poetry and pain are useless. Even the sharpest knife appears dull as useless against this. The beast.
There is NOTHING beckoning and I am in the worlds between, I had it all, SOMETHING just at my finger tips.
And with a deep and menacing, "Fuck you, little girl."
Your eyes looking at me with all the hate of all the women who beat you down. All of their hate and it's pouring on to me. The guts of your fell and then FUCK YOU LITTLE GIRL.
and fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK!!!! FUCK!!!
I'd rather you hit me. I'd rather you cut me and make me bleed.
Bring me to deaths floor, but do it by my side.
Don't leave me rotting in my bed alone, my brain twisted in tumors of my putrid self.
Don't leave me screaming for you.
Don't leave me needing you.
I need you to love me. Be angry with me. Fuck me. Fucking hit me of you need to.
Tie me up and choke me, till I am close to death.
Make me wonder if your face is the last I'll ever see.
But while you do it, fill me with you.
Make me beg all you want. Fill me till it hurts and then press into me harder.
Break me. Make me beg you to stop, beg you to keep going.
I'll beg at your knees till the day I die, so long as you stay.
Just stay.
I am nothing with out you.
I can't be nothing.