No hidden catch, no strings attached, just free love
Somewhere in the universe there are three seperate things that exist in space and time. There's no responsibility, no specific creator, they've just always existed. A cruel twist of fate pushes them together, binds them by a thin wire, pulls so hard they bleed and blend together. And finally destiny throws the strangled mess on the street, wraps it up in leather pants and a cocky swagger. Calls it Faith.
The first she's the most practiced in.
Where skinny bruised knees used to shiver and shake against eachother now stand pale shapely legs. She's not even thirteen yet but she knows what the boys want. Sometimes late at night when her mom is in a good mood and drunk on cheap whiskey she talks to Faith. Tells her stories about her life, about what the boys want. Faith listens intently as she leans against the couch and watches her mom paint her long fingernails. Like claws.
She thinks about claws when she's fourteen and prowling some bar that she's way too young to get served in but does anyways. Living on your own in South Boston isn't easy on a kid but she gets by. She will get by just as soon as she has insurance that she'll have a roof over her head come nightfall. She spots a man at the bar in boots giving her the eye and she knows she's found it.
She has a talent for it, like none they've ever seen before. It's because they don't know the secrets that she keeps locked beneath all that fragile pale skin. Mysteries of life and exactly how to crush it hidden beneath the depths of dark panther like eyes. An arch of her hips, arch of her back, sweat clinging to her darkly painted lips and she teaches herself a thousand new tricks that Momma's boyfriends had never bothered to take the time to show her.
Boys are simple, they don't care. Just like Momma always said. They want to get it wet and get off. They didn't care about her and so she makes them care. Night after night. She learns how to ride that crest of waves in minutes, seconds sometimes she gets off so easy. Everything around her is electric, the air buzzes over her skin, her teeth comfortably nestled just above a collarbone and she sees stars.
With age and calling comes experience, stamina, strength. Those nights spent in between the here and there and underneath the sheets. Toes curling, breath gasping and she feels it more than she's ever felt it before, all the way down to her bones. She remembers the stories, she's learned all the lessons her mother ever had to teach her. Quick thrust, release and then walk away. It's a disease and she's caught it. You control them or they control you, there is no middle ground. She runs away before her foot even hits the ground and somewhere between first and second base she stops being Faith and starts being something completely different. There's an animal inside of her and she's smart enough to know that even she's powerless to contain it.
The second one's easy because it's her God given birthright. At least she's sure it would be if she could believe in a thing like God.
She knows she should be crying, shaking, screaming even. Can feel it down to the tips of her toes and feel it in the quickening of her pulse. Where a few minutes ago she'd been arguing with a man in the middle of Boston Common over the price of a few spare tabs of acid and the next she knows it she's being attacked by the face of a creature unlike anything she's ever seen before. The urge to scream grows within her as he pins her to the ground and his mouth closes in on her throat. Instead she marvels over how it is that she can wrench an arm free and pop her attacker so hard in the face he goes rolling off of her. It's not until she's beaten the thing into a bloody pulp that a strange woman comes out of the shadows and tells her she's the Chosen One. Faith grins.
As natural to her as breathing, she moves with the kind of precision and grace that they write stories about. There's a buzzing just underneath her skin that hits every switch she's got and then some. It tingles down low and spreads up through her belly, wraps itself around her heart. And she can feel it, every moment, every kick, every little second where fists meet flesh and flesh meets fist. Only one thing screaming through her mind like a freight train. She's going to win, and they're going to lose. There's no room for losing when destiny's calling.
She revels in the sound of bones crunching beneath her nimble fingertips, loves the feeling of her back slamming against the wall. She remembers everything they've ever said about her, it draws tight around her, suffocates her and just when she thinks she may have drowned she pushes past it and lets it out into the world. Screams that they can't even touch her anymore, she's unstoppable as she pounds one demon after the next. A well of raw power and rage bursting through the seams aided only by a pointed wooden stick.
Quick thrust, release into a dusky cloud of ash and then walk away. Tastes the grit of sand between her teeth and brushes the dust off of her jeans before she turns to go. She's been gone since before she sank the stake into it's chest. Somewhere between swapping insults and the first punch she turns into something completely different with the call of the desert at her back. It's not about the people who've hurt her, it's about a force she can't begin to describe. There's a monster inside of her and she's never cared enough to contain it.
The third is nothing more than a prelude to the poem.
It's a means to an end, even at ten Faith understands this as she watches the grown ups writhe against eachother on the dance floor. Momma's on the junk again and with no babysitter in sight Faith is prowling around the outskirts of the bar while her mother meets with a man about medicine. Through wide dark eyes she scans the rows of bodies, feels the heat in the air, goosebumps trailing across her bare arms. She watches as the grown ups lead eachother to the dark corners by the hand, sometimes out to the alleyways or bathrooms. It's a means to an end.
At the end of the night or the beginning of the night, sometimes both she finds herself out on the floor. Bass pounding beneath her black boots as her body moves easily to the rhthym of the music. Sometimes she's looking to lure in a good kill and sometimes she's letting off some steam afterwards. Hungry and horny only get you so far and nothing can match the intensity of the sex and desperate rolling off of her skin. It's thick in the air as she rubs up against a stranger, nothing but untapped lust. Foreplay and the only kind Faith's ever believed in.
She teases herself nearly as often as she tantalizes those that surround her, bodies jerking in time with a beat so loud they can't even manage pleasantries like exchanging names. In reality Faith doesn't care what their names are or who they are. Uncontrollable craving for flesh pressed against flesh. Impulses are important and she's never been very good at controlling them. Groping and grabbing and writhing and she knows she's about ready to pop. As she turns and walks away she knows it's not over yet. Not until she's home in the bathtub for some alone time, fingers creeping underneath the surface of the water.
And release.
The first she's the most practiced in.
Where skinny bruised knees used to shiver and shake against eachother now stand pale shapely legs. She's not even thirteen yet but she knows what the boys want. Sometimes late at night when her mom is in a good mood and drunk on cheap whiskey she talks to Faith. Tells her stories about her life, about what the boys want. Faith listens intently as she leans against the couch and watches her mom paint her long fingernails. Like claws.
She thinks about claws when she's fourteen and prowling some bar that she's way too young to get served in but does anyways. Living on your own in South Boston isn't easy on a kid but she gets by. She will get by just as soon as she has insurance that she'll have a roof over her head come nightfall. She spots a man at the bar in boots giving her the eye and she knows she's found it.
She has a talent for it, like none they've ever seen before. It's because they don't know the secrets that she keeps locked beneath all that fragile pale skin. Mysteries of life and exactly how to crush it hidden beneath the depths of dark panther like eyes. An arch of her hips, arch of her back, sweat clinging to her darkly painted lips and she teaches herself a thousand new tricks that Momma's boyfriends had never bothered to take the time to show her.
Boys are simple, they don't care. Just like Momma always said. They want to get it wet and get off. They didn't care about her and so she makes them care. Night after night. She learns how to ride that crest of waves in minutes, seconds sometimes she gets off so easy. Everything around her is electric, the air buzzes over her skin, her teeth comfortably nestled just above a collarbone and she sees stars.
With age and calling comes experience, stamina, strength. Those nights spent in between the here and there and underneath the sheets. Toes curling, breath gasping and she feels it more than she's ever felt it before, all the way down to her bones. She remembers the stories, she's learned all the lessons her mother ever had to teach her. Quick thrust, release and then walk away. It's a disease and she's caught it. You control them or they control you, there is no middle ground. She runs away before her foot even hits the ground and somewhere between first and second base she stops being Faith and starts being something completely different. There's an animal inside of her and she's smart enough to know that even she's powerless to contain it.
The second one's easy because it's her God given birthright. At least she's sure it would be if she could believe in a thing like God.
She knows she should be crying, shaking, screaming even. Can feel it down to the tips of her toes and feel it in the quickening of her pulse. Where a few minutes ago she'd been arguing with a man in the middle of Boston Common over the price of a few spare tabs of acid and the next she knows it she's being attacked by the face of a creature unlike anything she's ever seen before. The urge to scream grows within her as he pins her to the ground and his mouth closes in on her throat. Instead she marvels over how it is that she can wrench an arm free and pop her attacker so hard in the face he goes rolling off of her. It's not until she's beaten the thing into a bloody pulp that a strange woman comes out of the shadows and tells her she's the Chosen One. Faith grins.
As natural to her as breathing, she moves with the kind of precision and grace that they write stories about. There's a buzzing just underneath her skin that hits every switch she's got and then some. It tingles down low and spreads up through her belly, wraps itself around her heart. And she can feel it, every moment, every kick, every little second where fists meet flesh and flesh meets fist. Only one thing screaming through her mind like a freight train. She's going to win, and they're going to lose. There's no room for losing when destiny's calling.
She revels in the sound of bones crunching beneath her nimble fingertips, loves the feeling of her back slamming against the wall. She remembers everything they've ever said about her, it draws tight around her, suffocates her and just when she thinks she may have drowned she pushes past it and lets it out into the world. Screams that they can't even touch her anymore, she's unstoppable as she pounds one demon after the next. A well of raw power and rage bursting through the seams aided only by a pointed wooden stick.
Quick thrust, release into a dusky cloud of ash and then walk away. Tastes the grit of sand between her teeth and brushes the dust off of her jeans before she turns to go. She's been gone since before she sank the stake into it's chest. Somewhere between swapping insults and the first punch she turns into something completely different with the call of the desert at her back. It's not about the people who've hurt her, it's about a force she can't begin to describe. There's a monster inside of her and she's never cared enough to contain it.
The third is nothing more than a prelude to the poem.
It's a means to an end, even at ten Faith understands this as she watches the grown ups writhe against eachother on the dance floor. Momma's on the junk again and with no babysitter in sight Faith is prowling around the outskirts of the bar while her mother meets with a man about medicine. Through wide dark eyes she scans the rows of bodies, feels the heat in the air, goosebumps trailing across her bare arms. She watches as the grown ups lead eachother to the dark corners by the hand, sometimes out to the alleyways or bathrooms. It's a means to an end.
At the end of the night or the beginning of the night, sometimes both she finds herself out on the floor. Bass pounding beneath her black boots as her body moves easily to the rhthym of the music. Sometimes she's looking to lure in a good kill and sometimes she's letting off some steam afterwards. Hungry and horny only get you so far and nothing can match the intensity of the sex and desperate rolling off of her skin. It's thick in the air as she rubs up against a stranger, nothing but untapped lust. Foreplay and the only kind Faith's ever believed in.
She teases herself nearly as often as she tantalizes those that surround her, bodies jerking in time with a beat so loud they can't even manage pleasantries like exchanging names. In reality Faith doesn't care what their names are or who they are. Uncontrollable craving for flesh pressed against flesh. Impulses are important and she's never been very good at controlling them. Groping and grabbing and writhing and she knows she's about ready to pop. As she turns and walks away she knows it's not over yet. Not until she's home in the bathtub for some alone time, fingers creeping underneath the surface of the water.
And release.