Desire

Tell me your secrets and I will show you mine.
The ones that replace words with writhes and moans that cross all kinds of lines.
I will, if you wish, give a taste to define —
All the naughty things that cross my mind.
No feather-like kisses and delicate tongue,
No sheets to slither on or tempered wants.
I like pain with my pleasure — to give and to get.
I want to be ripped apart and my pulsing appetite kept whet.
Blindside me with brazen hands, nails and teeth,
Let me be the filler of your darkest needs.
They say the darker the desire, the deeper the cuts,
But I’ll devour it all and bear the marks with pride.
Simply satiate the source of the constant pulse between my thighs.

Existential Crisis?

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When it’s quiet, really quiet, I feel the echoes of my existence bleeding through my skin.
I try to stay still – no breathing, no thinking – just floating.
Maybe that will keep it at bay.
It usually does for a little while.
Not often though.
The heavy feeling of my breath, my heartbeat-
The fact that I am here in this moment (this space) is something that has always haunted me.
Does it haunt you too?
Do you want to pause your existence and not feel, not touch, not smell, not want…?
These moments are my torture – my masochistic thrill,
For, if I do not feel the weight of my existence, how do I know that i’m alive?